WINE & MIRACLES
by foxdvd
Summary: Just how well do you think you know Don Flack, Jr? Just how much of his past makes him the man he is today?
1. Books and Hockey

**A/N: ** I just watched Disney's "Miracle", starring Kurt "Snake Plissken" Russell and Eddie Cahill, last night. So in case you're wondering, this is where this whole fic is coming from.

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Don Flack was toweling his hair dry when he heard a knock on his front door and frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone, had yet to decide what kind of take out to order and it was way too early for Messer to be bugging him out. He was surprised to see the mop of curly hair through the peephole, but it was a nice surprise all in all.

"Hi!"

Stella's breathless greeting, accompanied by a luminous smile made his smile as well, and he moved aside to let her in.

"I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but the Navarro case got closed and…"

That got his attention quickly. "Navarro's case is closed?! How the hell did that happen?"

Stella put down on the table the bunch of files she had in her hands and turned around to face the young detective.

"You'd never believe it."

"Try me."

"He got involved in a fender-bender with a 16 year old girl… on the Lincoln Tunnel."

The expression on his face was priceless. His smile grew bigger and soon gave way to laughter. He sat down on the couch, trying to control himself.

"No way, Stell. No fucking way! And on my day off! Damn, I'd love to have seen his expression…"

Armand Navarro was a known pedophile whom they've been trying to capture for the past 4 months; they had gotten close twice, but had had to let him go on a technicality both times. Flack and Stella had been busting their asses trying to find enough evidence to nail him for good. The only thing they had for certain so far was that he was of an aggressive nature, that he had a penchant for 15-16 year old girls… and that he was claustrophobic.

"He must have been in a hurry to leave the island of he risked going inside the tunnel…" he muttered

"The radio report said that traffic was deemed as light, so he went for it. The cameras show that he was speeding and driving recklessly, changing lanes in a forceful way. Patricia Russell has had her driver's license for 2 weeks. She was, in no way, prepared to deal with a driver like Navarro and didn't get out of the way fast enough. Miss Russell might not be too experienced when it comes to driving, but she's one smart cookie: she blocked his way out and called the police."

Flack was following her narrative with great interest, picturing the whole thing in his mind.

"Imagine his surprise when he got out of the car intent on beating the living daylights of the other driver, only to find out it was a teen girl wearing a bikini top and a denim skirt…" she noticed Flack's raised eyebrow and was quick to add: "Miss Russell and her friends were on the way to the beach at the time, it seems."

Flack nodded in understanding. A broad smile was playing on his lips. He was raised a good Catholic and didn't wish ill on anyone most of the times… but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit Navarro's predicament brought him some sort of satisfaction.

"As you can see…"

"Yeah… he was stuck between wanting to get her out of the way and getting his way with her… sorry, lame, I know, but still…"

"I know… fitting somehow. By the time he made up his mind the police had arrived and they took him to the precinct. All it took was a hit on CODIS for his prints and they booked him. Had Miss Russell been 3 years older, they'd just get him for reckless driving and attempted fleeing, but with his previous record…"

"Is it official, then?"

"He's scheduled for arraignment tomorrow noon. Which brings me back as to why I'm here on your day off…" she gestured towards the files on the table and Flack groaned.

"Paperwork?"

"You think I'm that cruel?" Stella smiled, "You owe Cindy big time for this one, babe. You just have to fill in the missing blanks and sign the gazillion copies needed to close the file and hand the report over to the DA"

"Cindy, huh? I'll keep it in mind. Get me a pen, BABE, and I'll pull in my share of the work…"

Stella grinned at the use of the term of endearment. It had slipped out unnoticed, a lapsus linguae Freud would call it, but she liked that he took notice and used it back. She unclipped the pen from on of the folders and placed it next to them. Flack sat down at his own table and was soon engrossed in the work at hand.

She let the younger officer go about this tedious duty, and she began perusing her surroundings. This wasn't the first time she had been at his place, having spent a good part of last summer as part of the nursing staff that helped him back to health after the bombing, but this was the first time she had time to take a good look around. She remembers thinking it struck her as odd that Flack had his living room walls covered with bookcases. She wouldn't have given it a second thought had it been Sheldon's or Lindsay's home. She wouldn't even find it particularly relevant had it been Danny's place… he was, after all, a curious scientist. But Don Flack… well, he didn't strike her as a bookworm kind of guy.

Stella sauntered nonchalantly towards the bookcases, looking over her shoulder once or twice to check if he was aware of her snooping. He seemed engrossed in the files, so she started perusing the contents of the cases. Photo albums. School yearbooks. Framed photos. James Patterson, Stephen King, Don Brown, Thomas Harris. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. She had to smile when she saw his DVD collection. "The Red Shoe Diaries" and "The Best of the Playboy Mansion" shared space with "The X-Files" and "Friends" box sets. A dozen or so sporting events raging from hockey to basketball and everything in between was also there.

She stopped short at the next shelf. Kurosawa, Fellini, Buñuel, Malle… Stella had no idea Flack liked foreign films. It came as no surprise to find some French, Spanish and Italian dictionaries tucked on one side. There was also a nice collection of so-called classic books, and by the dog eared pages and the clips placed here and there, they had been read more than once. "War and Peace", "Crime and Punishment", "Canterbury Tales", "Pride and Prejudice", "Doll's House", "Nostromo"… He had collections for Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Greek philosophers, 18th and 19th century poetry… He had Kafka and Nietzsche next to Miller and Nin. He had new-age stuff, like Deepak Chopra and Richard Bach. He even had a whole section on what Stella assumed were Latin American authors, such as Coelho, Neruda, Garcia Marquez, Sabines, Paz and Allende.

Stella looked back at Flack. He seemed to be inspired, as his writing flowed uninterruptedly as he wrote his own statement. She looked back at the book collection and back at him. The man at the table had a penchant for lousy one-liners and even lousier ties, and yet he was, perhaps, the wisest man she'd ever met when it came to street-wise smarts. And yet… she was having a hard time picturing him reading these books and marking them as well. On an impulse she got out one of them. "Illusions" by Richard Bach, and opened to the first mark. The edition wasn't a very good one, rather cheap paper with the words on the upper corners slightly smudged where the fingers had touched them over and over again. But on the outer margins she could see some notations. She would recognize those scribbles anywhere. She'd been reading them at least twice a month for the past 4 years. She controlled the urge to read what he had written, though. It felt like too much of an intrusion.

Putting the book back, she moved on to the next case, and found his CD collection there. Eclectic didn't begin to describe it. Tim McGraw was next to Toni Braxton. Celine Dion and Cinderella. Apocalyptica and Amanda Marshall. Frank Sinatra and Foo Fighters. Gustavo Santaolalla and Guns n' Roses. There was classical music, hip hop, movie soundtracks, instrumental scores from performers and countries she wasn't familiar with, as well as some Latin beats and Stella wondered if Flack knew how to dance them. She was also beginning to wonder if she, or anyone else for that matter, knew the real Flack at all.

The next case was full with trophies and plaques and medals and all sorts of memorabilia, both professional and amateur, from all sorts of sports. And photos. There was one of Flack and Danny playing street handball, Flack and some other agents playing basketball at the midnight courts. A souvenir card from the Yankees, autographed. Flack grinning like an idiot standing next to a guy Stella could only tell was a pro football player, or someone wearing a pro football player jersey. A whole hockey team huddling together and smiling for the photo whilst they held out a trophy of some sort. Flack standing with his parents (no mistaking Don Flack Sr. in there) and fully geared as a hockey goalie… Stella grabbed hold of the picture to take a closer look at it. Then, on a hunch, she took the hockey team photo as well. Peering into it more closely she realized that Flack was also in that one as well.

"That's the 92 Yonkers team, with the Hudson Valley Hockey League Trophy."

"Jesus, Flack, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack…"

"It was too good a chance to pass up, Stell. So… do I pass inspection, Detective Bonasera?"

Stella felt her cheeks burn. Busted! She quickly tried to weasel her way out of that particular situation.

"I didn't know you played hockey…" she muttered.

Flack considered for a second coming up with wisecrack, something like "As opposed to, say, knowing that I read Spanish poetry?", but he decided against it, opting for straight answers. He liked Stella a lot, and he was sure there were many things about her he didn't know, and he was sure he'd like to get to know them, and if getting her to know him was a starting point, he was not going to let the opportunity escape him.

"I started playing when I was 7 thanks to Jim Craig." When he noticed Stella's blank look of non recognition, he went on, his voice a mixture of awe and humble admiration. "Jim Craig was the goal keeper for the US Olympic team at the 1980's Lake Placid Games. They were called "The Miracle" Team cause they managed to beat the Russians after 16 years. They were also miraculous cause they came along at a time when the country's morale was at a very low point. And Jim Craig was miraculous as well: he stopped 36 out of 39 shots that night against the Russians."

Stella was following his narrative, mesmerized. Who knew Don Flack could be so passionate about something?

"I started skating right after that. I didn't want to be just any hockey player; I wanted to be a goal keeper. I was willing to work my butt off in order to make it and it paid off, I was lead goalie by the time I reached 9th grade. Hockey was probably what kept me off the streets, as well. Most of my school friends were already ganging up, a neighbor or two had already been shot… even my favorite cousin ended up being booked for auto theft. But I spent every single free hour practicing and every single weekend playing and it worked: I was alive and record-free. It even got me into college…"

"College?" It was out before she could stop herself, and she was instantly ashamed of the doubting tone of her voice. She was grateful that, either he didn't hear it or he was gracious enough to let it slide uncommented.

"Minnesota U. Spent there the whole summer after high school, at hockey camp, and what a learning experience that was. I learned real fast that being the star goalkeeper at Yonkers meant zilch outside of Yonkers. There were 14 guys aiming for the goalie spot and M.U. was only going to keep 3 guys for each position, goalies included."

"What happened?"

"I made it to number three. I was in. And then I had to do the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life…"

"Leave your family?" Stella could almost sense the teary eyed story behind this walk down memory lane, and her maternal comforting instincts were set on "Go" to spring into action the moment she felt Flack needed it. His answer, however, wasn't what she had been expecting.

"Choose my major."

Stella turned to face him fully, the look on her face priceless. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"Honest to God, Stell! I had spent the last 10 years of my life sailing on a B minus average only to be able to keep playing hockey. I had never considered what I wanted to be when I grew up, as I only had two options: pro hockey player or cop. It seemed very simple: get a college scholarship, get a pro scout to sign you up, and that was all there was to it. I never realized I had to actually study something in order to qualify for it."

"So what did you do?"

"Well, I knew science and I were not close friends, plus all those lab hours were going to wreck havoc with my practice schedule, so I chose the easiest way out. I majored in literature…"

"Literature?"

"Yeah. Literature. What's so odd about it? I like reading. I'm a fast reader. I had already read one third of the mandatory readings on the syllabus…" He noticed the look Stella was giving him. "What? I had to find a way to practice enough to get the guy in 2nd place out of my way AND I had to keep my B- average in order to keep the scholarship. That was the deal with my parents…"

Stella felt like slapping herself. His parents, of course! More precisely, Don Flack, Sr. Stella had the feeling that he wasn't all that happy with his son's decision of not following family tradition.

"Did your dad give you a hard time?"

Flack's jaw tightened for a second. "Hard time" seemed like an understatement. For all practical purposes, he had been disowned. Had it not been for his mother…

"Well, he did make it clear that if I lost the scholarship there was no way he'd be able to keep me in college…" he sighed. "It was good while it lasted, though…"

Seeing that Stella was trying very hard not to ask the obvious, he kept on going. "I managed to stay afloat my freshman and the first half of my sophomore year. I was now the replacement goal keeper and my grades were good enough…"

"But? I KNOW there's a but in there, Flack, so give it up."

"But then I fell in love…"

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**A/N: **I searched high and low for info on Don Flack's birth date and alas, there was none I could find. I do know that Mr. Cahill was born in 1978, which made him barely 2 when the Lake Placid Olympics took place, which totally ruined the general idea of the fic. So, for the sake of this story, I'm placing Don Flack at 33. There's also no information regarding Stella's age, but I'm keeping Melina's age for this one. 7 years ain't that much of a difference, and in RL Eddie Cahill's live-in g/f is 8 years his senior.


	2. Greek wine and Spanish tapas

**A/N: **Thanks for all the kind reviews. This was meant to be a one-shot, just a spec of Fiesta to cleanse my palate from the angst fest I was having over at Vegas. But it took on a life of its own and now it's become a series… who knew so many of us found Don Flack Jr. so fascinating???

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"You… fell in love…" Stella repeated his last phrase slowly, just to check if she had heard him correctly.

"Yeah…"

Both detectives remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Stella kept playing his records on her mind, searching for a mention of an ex-wife or child support order or something along those lines that would explain loosing a scholarship. Flack was gone on a journey that involved all of his senses, and the sad smile that played in his lips told Stella more than her own memories had. So Don Flack Jr. had a past, a painful past and she felt like she was intruding and over extending her welcome.

Stella slowly put the photo frames back to where they had been, startling Flack back to present day.

"I'm sorry…" they said at the same time. Flack smiled awkwardly and Stella felt a pull in her heart at the bitter sweetness of it all.

"I was going to apologize for my rude manners. Here you are, standing up, probably starving and dying of thirst… what kind of host am I? Please, Stell… say you'll have dinner with me."

That, as far as Stella was concerned, came totally out of the blue and she took a moment or two to collect herself before answering. "You really don't have to, Don. I think I've overextended my stay as it is…"

" I know you don't have to, but I want you to. I'm cooking, whatcha say? And get outta here with all that nonsense about overextending your welcome. Mi casa es tu casa, Stella. I thought you knew that."

Stella didn't know how to respond to that, so she simply sat down at the sofa. Seeing that Flack was headed towards the kitchen, she relocated herself and sat at one of the stools next to the bar and silently watched him move around with an ease that was slightly surprising on a man his height.

Don opened the pantry and seemed to be making up his mind. Shaking his head, he went towards a small cooling unit that sat next to the fridge. He quickly selected a bottle, opened the drawer and took out a cork screw and opened it with a smooth twist of his wrist.

"Nice trick. Where did you learn it?" she asked, as he filled two small glasses with a rose tinted liquid.

"Believe it or not, college" he said, handing Stella one of the glasses. "I was 3 credits short and heard there was a wine-tasting seminar that would give them to me. So I figured I'd go for it... I mean, what wasn't there to like? Free alcohol, three credits, a trick or two that might impress the ladies later on…"

Flack got lost in the memories again. What had sealed the deal was the instructor. Flack took one look at her and he was infatuated with this Latino goddess with curly long hair and fiery black eyes. He still remembers the first words out of her mouth the day the seminar began:

"The idea behind wine tasting is as simple as this: Relax and think about what you're drinking and enjoy it with all your senses. Examine its color. Is it clear or hazy, transparent or opaque? Note the aroma. Does it smell like fruit or flowers or maybe even veggies? Now, take a drink. Go ahead, take two if you want. Swirl it around your mouth, try to get a feel not only of its taste but the texture and weight as well. Who cares if you look like a chipmunk? You're enjoying yourself. Allow yourself to fall in love with it…"

And fallen in love he had, both with the beverage and with Eugenia. Stella's voice brought him our of his reverie: "I'd have thought you were more a beer kind of guy."

"Nah. Beer is fine when you're watching a game with the buddies. Wine, on the other hand, is for every other occasion. It's the only beverage I know that appeals to both the senses and the intellect at the same time…"

Stella smiled at this. Only Flack could come up with a phrase like that and manage to not make it sound too cheesy. She took a careful sip of the wine in front of her and was instantly assaulted by the flavor. It tasted dry but had a wonderful strawberry and red cherry flavor and scent. She took another sip and closed her eyes.

"My God, Flack… what is this?"

Don had been taking some things out of the fridge and it was a good thing he still had goalie-like reflexes, or else he'd have a huge mess on the floor. He was pretty sure Stella had actually MOANED that last statement, and his mind was in the gutter faster than he could say Bonasera. "Down, boy, down" he told himself, but he couldn't deny it would be a nice fantasy to hear her say the same in a more… intimate… situation.

"You're drinking **Kir-Yianni, ** a Greek rosé wine from the **Amyndeon **region, a 2003 harvest, which is why I could afford it. It was a good year, but not one of the best they've had…"

"You really do know about this stuff, don't you?" Stella asked, in awe.

"Well.. uh... yeah. I took the seminar and I learned a great deal about wine and wine tasting.." And sex, love, romance and an idyllic bohemian life. But he didn't tell Stella that. She'd hear about it, that was for sure, but much, much later.

"All I know about wines is that there are red and white, and that you drink red with meat and white with chicken and fish. And champagne with everything else."

"If you don't think you'd get too bored, I could give you a 101 crash course while I get dinner ready."

"Sure! Just tell me what to do…"

"Sit right where you are and enjoy your rosé. And pay attention. Professor Flack might give you a pop quiz later on to see if you got it."

Stella smiled and rolled her eyes. She took inventory of the ingredients that he was placing on the counter: mayonnaise, smoked ham, avocado, potatoes, an onion, eggs. A plastic container with something dark inside and some type of sausage, as well. From the pantry he had removed a loaf of bread, several flasks of spices and jar filled with garlic cloves, already peeled. Olive oil sat next to a skillet, and he began peeling potatoes with the lighting speed only seasoned cooks had.

"Wine can be made from a variety of grapes or from a single type of grape" he began his explanation as he continued to peel the potatoes. "There are some wines, known as varietals, which are named after the principal grape in their composition. Other wines are named after the region in which the grapes were grown."

He finished peeling and began dicing and slicing, with the confidence of someone who not only knew what he was doing, but enjoyed it as well.

"You with me so far?" he asked. Stella nodded, mesmerized by his actions. "Good."

"There are the two basic types of wine: red and white. Red wine is made from red, or black, grapes, and when winemakers ferment red wine, they use the skin of the grapes. This allows the tannins from the grapes to enter the wine and gives red wine its dark color. There are many different types of red wine. Some use the one grape variety, like Zinfandels. Others use a blend of two or more grapes, such as Merlots or a Cabernet Sauvignon blend"

"The Merlot one sounds familiar…"

"It's a very popular type. You can get a decent Merlot for less than 10 bucks at the Vintage. The real good ones go for close to 400"

He sliced the bread and placed it on the toaster, and then crushed a garlic clove and mixed it with the mayo.

"White wine can be made from either red or white grapes. The reason the wine remains white or golden is that the skins are not used in the fermentation process. While the grapes used in the wine will have a large impact on the taste of the wine, the winemaker can also influence its taste during the vinification, or winemaking, process adding additional flavors, like vanilla or other spices. White wine styles vary from very dry to super sweet and are typically served chilled. Chardonnays, Rieslings and Pinot Gris are the most common names."

"I've had Chardonnays on a rare occasion" Stella commented. "You sure you don't want me to help with that?" She motioned the now toasted slices of bread he was spreading with the garlic mayo. Flack shook his head. He was quickly placing the bread on a plate, and layering each slice with avocado dices and thinly sliced smoked ham.

"There are also rosé wines (also known as blush wine) which are produced from red black or black grapes." He motioned to the glass Stella had in her hands. "However, it is only allowed contact with the skins for a short period of time. This gives it the slight color of a red (more like a pink) but a taste more similar to a white."

He put the skillet to heat and poured a generous quantity of olive oil and allowed it to heat up. Turning around, he presented the prepared bread slices to Stella.

"Class over. First course, my lady. Tapas de aguacate."

"Ta…pas de ahua.. ca..te?"

"Not too shabby, Bonasera. Avocado snacks. Tapas are typical snacks in Spain and some regions of France. Try it while I finish the Tortilla."

He moved back to the skillet, where he poured the chopped sausage, and the onions, stirring until cooked. He quickly added the diced potatoes that had previously been cooking on high at the microwave. On a bowl he bet 5 eggs and poured them on top of everything. He turned back to Stella, took another sip of wine and stole a bite from her "tapa". "Hmp-ooth?" he asked

"Very good" she replied, still not believing what she was seeing. Fortunately, she was used to Flack's munching English, otherwise she wouldn't have had an idea what he'd asked her.

"Give me another minute and we can sit down properly for dinner"

He turned his attention back to the skillet, where he attempted to flip over the omelet. Stella turned her attention to him.

She was so used to seeing him in suits and shirts that it was somewhat distracting to see him wearing sweats and a t-shirt. She could make out his back muscles as they stretched and flexed. The sweats were riding low on his hips, and she had a brief flash of flesh every now and then. Stella told herself that she'd better watch it, that there was nothing wrong with taking a look at the goods, but you had to draw the line when you started considering "touching" the goods.

But, oh God, the "goods" Don Flack Jr. had to offer! He had the perfect height, the perfect body type, the blue eyes to die for, the square and manly jaw… and his hands! Stella had no problem whatsoever picturing those hands all over her body… and those kinds of thoughts were definitively "crossing the line". She made herself self-promise that she'll have dinner with him, would turn down a second glass of wine and would be headed to her own place as soon as the plates were ready to be cleared off the table.

Her daydreaming was cut short by Flack placing two bowls of vibrant red soup, a more less round-shaped omelet and the opened bottle of wine on the bar in front of her.

"Smells wonderful, Don. What is it?"

"Gazpacho… that's a tomato, cucumber and bell pepper cold soup. And a barely passable tortilla de patatas… your basic potato, onion and sausage omelet… I never got the hang of the tossing part, but it's still edible."

"Where did you learn to cook all this?"

"When I lived in Spain…"

Stella almost choked on her gazpacho. "You lived in Spain?!"

"Most of the times…"

Stella could sense his hesitation to give her an straight answer, and she'd normally drop the conversation and wait for him to bring it back up when he was good and ready. But this time around, she just couldn't let it slide.

"When?"

"After I took the seminar.. the wine tasting one I was telling you about earlier…"

"How long where you there?"

"Ahm… 8 months?"

"So the scholarship…?"

"Lost it. Blew my chances after I flunked French Intro in my sophomore year…"

"Why did you flunk?"

"I stopped attending classes mid course…"

"But why? I mean, you were aware of the consequences… and your dreams of becoming a pro hockey player…"

"I lost my love for the game Stell. You see, I had found something that captivated me in ways hockey never did and never would be able to do so…"

Flack remained silent for a second, trying to find the way to tell Stella the truth without having her loose respect for him in the process.

"I can see you're passionate about wine and wine tasting, but…"

"Wine tasting was a passion, but not my biggest passion. I lost my scholarship because I fell in love with Eugenia Montalvo, my Spanish wine instructor… and when she moved back to Europe after the seminar… I simply left with her."

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**A/N: ** See? I told you! The one-shot that refused to stay at that! Next up: salsa dancing and poetry…


	3. Salsa and Boleros

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone that's been kind enough to review! Sorry if I didn't get back to you personally… between researching for this fic and real life I'm kinda short on time. But, making up a whole background for Flack has been immensely fun!

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The piece of tortilla stopped midway in the air, Stella's mouth open, not to eat it, but in surprise.

"You… left?"

Flack finished his own bite and took another sip of wine, buying himself some time to answer the question. How to tell Stella… how to explain it so she wouldn't think less of him? The right wording was crucial if he hoped to ever have a chance at something more than friendship with this Greek goddess who was still waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Flunking French wasn't the sole reason I was loosing the scholarship. My game was down, too. I broke my wrist playing grass hockey without gearing up. The coach wasn't pleased one bit, especially since we weren't supposed to be out of the rink in the first place… but the cheerleading squad was out there and Kramsky had it real bad for their captain and…"

"And good teammates such as yourselves did what you had to do in order to help him, huh?"

Don smiled and nodded. At least she got that part right! Stella smiled as well. Playing grass hockey was relatively tame compared to some stunts she had pulled off back in her days…

"Stupid, but understandable. So what happened then?"

"I got thrown back to third keeper and barely got to play the last half of my sophomore year. Coach was a mean bastard, but that's why he got all those trophies on the wall, I guess. He had new kids coming in for trials. I was good Stell, very good. But my wrist was stiff from the fracture and these kids were three years younger than I was, and I knew I was gonna get shown the door…"

Flack took another bite and a quick side trip to the past. He was still stopping 7 or 8 shots out of 10, which was above average. But Coach Harris didn't want above average, he wanted remarkable, extraordinary. When he sent word he wanted to see him in his office, Flack knew he was going to get "the talk" and his worse fears were confirmed when Coach asked him to close the door behind him. A closed door in Coach Harris office only meant you were getting kicked out of the team. In retrospective, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Coach offered to help him transfer to a community college where he could still play and have some financial help with his tuition and boarding. All he had to do was end up the year with his grade average clean. Flack thanked him and said he would think about it.

"I should have told him I wasn't doing so great in French, but I chickened. I didn't want Coach to be disappointed in me anymore than he already was."

"Did you consider getting a tutor or something?"

Flack seemed to ponder the question as he cleared the dishes away. Grabbing the bottle and the glasses, he motioned Stella to move over to the living room and they sat down on the couch.

"Briefly. But no amount of tutoring was going to stop me from flunking: there's not much you can do when since day one the teacher's got it against you, and Madame Lessard had it real bad against jocks. It was her experience and opinion that us "sport brutes" only took her course to get the credits and had no interest whatsoever in the language. No matter what I did, she never changed her mind. I told her I was going to get a tutor and she accused me of… how did she phrased it? "Pour couchez avec une mademoiselle" or something like that. She never really believed I was in it for the love of it…"

"She actually accused you of trying to bed one of your classmates? How unethical of her!"

Flack looked at her a bit surprised. "I didn't know you speak French…"

Stella looked down, sheepishly. "I don't. But everybody has heard the "voulez-vous couchez avec moi, c'est soir" enough times to know what that means…"

Flack's mind was back in the gutter before she had finished the sentence. Granted, the pronunciation was typically American, but he could teach her how to pronounce it in such way no matter where she went, her intentions would be crystal clear. And he wouldn't mind it one bit if they did that… tutoring… in his bed. He shook his head as if to get rid of the sexual toned ideas and grabbed the remote control of the sound system. He had no idea what was on it, but any distraction was good given the present situation. He relaxed as the first notes of Latin jazz filled the room.

Stella seemed to relax as well. "Sounds good. Jazz?"

"Latin jazz. Tito Puente. Perhaps the best percussionist there's ever been."

They sat in silence listening to the music and sipping their wine. Stella had forgotten all about her resolution of turning down the second glass, and was now agreeing to a third serving.

"The music…" she began, "You got that from living in Spain?"

"Not all. The block where I grew up… we were basically from all parts of the world. My next door neighbors were Cuban… boy, could they dance up a storm! The first girl I dated was Colombian… again, the music, the beat… Back then I had no idea what the song said, but it was pretty catchy and a good alternative to glam and punk rock, which were my other influences, given my Irish relatives. Bono and Billy Idol were gods back then…well, Bono still is, in a way. But you knew we had it bad for salsa when half the block got together to go watch Willie Colon on Times Square…"

Stella was torn between wanting to know more about this music loving Flack and wanting to know more about the mysterious Eugenia Montalvo. She didn't want to come across as nosy or have Don clam up and never bring this subject up ever again. She opted to follow his lead and keep on the topic of music… he'll go back to his mysterious lady love when he was ready for it.

"Wasn't that the big Latino concert that had half Manhattan upside down?" she asked

"And the other half dancing like madmen… yeah... that was it"

"So… you salsa?"

Flack snorted. "I wish! I don't think I'd ever claim that what I do is salsa. I'm too tall to do it properly. I know the basic steps, but when it comes to turns, that's the end of the line for me. And forget about the acrobatics you see on those dance contests… that's not the salsa I know!"

"Shoot. I was already considering signing you up for the "Dancing with the Stars" charity event next month…"

Flack grabbed a small cushion form the sofa and threw it at her. "Mock me again, Bonasera, and you can kiss goodbye our dancing date…"

There was a 30 second silence. "Damn, did I just blurt that out?" "God, did he actually mean that?"

In lieu of a bell, they were saved by the random shift clicking in. A different kind of beat, more Latino, filled the room and covered up the silence. "Speaking of the devil…" Flack thought.

"That, Bonasera, is Willie Colon himself, playing one of his best songs…"

Stella listened to the music, feeling the beat get underneath her skin, making her feel like moving and dancing "No wonder people go crazy over this" she thought. She tried making out the lyrics: _Gitana, gitana, gitana, gitana, tu pelo, tu pelo, tu cara, tu cara._

"What is he saying?" she asked, giving up.

"Gypsy, gypsy, your hair, your hair, your face, your face. Basically, he's in love with a gypsy girl with curly hair who's not in love with him…"

Flack was having a hard time keeping still. Willie Colon had that effect on him. And he knew exactly just how ridiculous he looked tapping his feet to the music whilst sitting down… one of the very few times he was fully aware of his height and the length of his arms and legs and how… "gawky" it made him look. When it got too unbearable, he stood up and held his hand to Stella.

"Come on, girl. If I'm ever going to show your face around my old hunting grounds I have to make sure you know what to do…"

"Why, thank you…"

"For asking you out?"

"For implying I was a total klutz. Need I remind you, Detective Flack that one of my foster mothers had a ballet academy and I learned a trick or two?"

"Well, excuse me; I didn't realize I was talking with Celia Cruz…"

"Celia who?"

"Celia Cruz, queen of salsa. You gotta lot to learn if you're ever going to have game, Bonasera…"

They had bantered as Flack moved the couch out of the way to make room for their dancing. Now he was holding her right hand on his left, and his right hand was on her waist. Not knowing what to do with her own left hand, she placed it on his shoulder, as it seemed the most logical place to do so.

"This is your basic two-step Stella. Slow-slow, fast-fast. Back, then forward, four sets and then your basic twirl in between my arms. Got that?"

"Think so: slow-slow, fast-fast, back, forward, twirl. Go ahead… I'll follow your lead…"

It took them a couple of tries to get it right. Don wasn't used to leading someone who didn't know how to salsa, and Stella wasn't used to be lead in a rhythm she was unfamiliar with. They danced mostly in silence, save the parts that he hummed and translated: "_Sé que no nunca fuiste mía, ni lo has sido, ni lo eres… _I know you were never mine, nor have you been, nor will you ever be…" 

They were finally getting the hang out of dancing together. Stella understood why being tall would present a problem whilst dancing with a shorter partner, as one of the steps had him twirling around her, under her arms. Stella figured she was some 6 or 7 inches shorter than Flack, but since she was wearing heels and he was barefoot at the time, the difference was nearly cut in half.

"_Y tengo celos del viento por que acaricia tu piel, de la luna a que miras, del sol porque te calienta_… And I'm jealous of the wind that caresses your skin, of the moon when you look at it, of the sun cause it warms you up…"

Stella had no idea salsa lyrics could be so passionate. She was under the impression that they were joyful songs, party songs… but not melancholic love songs such as the one they were dancing to right now.

"_Sin mirarte yo te miro, sin sentirte yo te siento; sin hablarte yo te hablo; sin quererte yo te quiero_… I look at you without looking at you, I feel you without feeling you, I talk to you without speaking to you, I love you…"

Don got stuck on the last line. He didn't know how to translate it properly, but he realized that after the L-word had slipped out. Fortunately for him, Stella wasn't looking at his face right then or else he'd be in deep trouble. He didn't understand what was going on with him. He was man enough to admit he'd had a crush on Stella Bonasera almost since the day he'd met her. Cop psychology told him that it was mainly because she reminded him so much of Eugenia. Time had told him that perhaps it had been so in the beginning, but that now it was all Stella driving him crazy. Common sense told him that she'll probably turn him down as gently as possible, using the "I love you as a brother" speech. His body, however, was telling him that this felt too damn right to be a mistake or a simple crush.

Stella did notice the change in his demeanor, but kept on dancing as if nothing had changed. Her heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the word "love" but she tried to rationalize it. It had been 18 months since her ordeal with Frankie. Thus it had been 18 months since she had had any sort of relationship with a man, outside her male friends form the lab, and as great as it felt hugging Mac or Adam of Sheldon, the feeling was somewhat lacking. She had tried going to a bar by herself once or twice, but had left as soon as someone seemed to notice her. She just couldn't do it… memories of Frankie's attack were still too fresh and she didn't know if she'd be able to trust another man again. And yet… she felt so safe in Don's arms. He was a man who'd never video tape them without her knowledge, or go stalker on her.

The song ended just then.

"Not so shabby, Bonasera. There might be hope for you…"

"Oh, really? Just watch it, Flack; I'll be dancing in circles around you before you know it…"

The next song began playing and it had a faster beat than the previous one. Flack smiled as he recognized the first notes of "Suavemente", a salsa-merengue mix by New Yorker Elvis Crespo. He pulled Stella closer to him, and muttered: "I think that's the idea, Stella…"

If she had any doubt as to what type of dancer Flack was, by mid song they were all cleared. What he lacked in technique he made up with enthusiasm, and he seemed to enjoy this type of dancing… a lot. Stella was reminded of "Dirty Dancing", as he was virtually leading her by the hips… with his hips. His hands seemingly everywhere, a barely-there touch that left her so very aware of his presence. All in all, a very erotic experience, one that was driving her cautiousness to slow extinction. And the lyrics were doing nothing for her sanity, either. Her almost non-existent knowledge of Spanish was enough to let her know that the singer was virtually begging his girl to kiss him… real slow. Not that she'd mind obliging every time Flack mumbled "Suavemente… besame" in time to the lyrics.

Flack knew he was pushing the envelope dancing with Stella like this. But he couldn't help it. His body was in auto-pilot, easily stepping into a dance routine that was meant to leave both dancers hot for more… or for each other. He was actually having a good time, and by the way Stella was laughing and getting into it, so was she. So she thought she could dance, huh? He snaked his arm behind her and dipped her backwards in a circular motion, bringing her up barely an inch from his face. His hands stole to her hips and her back, sliding slowly, covering every inch of her body possible, never allowing their bodies to be separated more than a couple of inches. He remembered Raymundo, his Cuban neighbor, telling him that if he wanted to know beforehand just how good making love to a woman was going to be, that he should first dance with her like this. Years later, Flack had to concede that Ray knew what he was talking about. And the way Stella was dancing with him…

It was getting to them both, and they both silently swore no more salsa for them, at least not that night. The song ended and they both remained standing close together, panting, trying to catch their breaths, trying to find a way to put an end to this without really wanting to do so. The whir of the CD shifting was very audible, and to Stella's surprise, the next song that began was completely different. It was a slow, romantic tune, nothing like they had previously heard or danced, and she found herself wrapped in Don's arms, swaying softly to it.

Whatever intentions Flack had of ending their dancing were thrown out the window as soon as he heard the song. "You trying to tell me something, Geña?" he thought to himself. He hadn't danced to this particular song in over 10 years, the last time he'd done so had been with Eugenia Montalvo… it seemed like a lifetime had gone by since then. Holding Stella closer to his body, he allowed the memories and the feelings from the past to meld into his present.

"It's nice" Stella murmured, the silence making her nervous.

"It's a bolero. Basically a love song. Most of them were originally poems which were later played to music. This is one of my favorites, actually…"

"What does it say?" Stella asked… although she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer… not if she wanted to go home that night as if it had been like any other night.

"_Usted es la culpable de todas mis angustias y todos mis quebrantos. Usted llenó mi vida de dulces inquietudes y amargos desengaños…_ You're responsible for all my anguish and all my pain. You've filled my life with sweet uneasiness and bitter disenchantment…"

They kept on swaying, slower each passing moment, until they were barely moving. Stella was resting her head against his shoulder, completely surrounded by his arms and wondered if this is how love was meant to feel. Not lust or passion. Real love.

"_No juegue con mis penas, ni con mis sentimientos que es lo único que tengo. Usted es mi esperanza, mi única esperanza, comprenda de una vez. Usted me desespera, me mata, me enloquece, y hasta la vida diera por vencer el miedo de besarla a Usted_… Don't play with my sorrow or my feelings, cause that's all I've got. You're my hope, my only hope, please understand. You render me hopeless, you're killing me, you drive me crazy… and I'm willing to give up life itself if I could loose this fear of kissing you…"

The music stopped and so did they. Flack lifted his hand to her face, and gently ran his thumb over her lips…

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**A/N: Please bear in mind that if you kill me now, or that if you murder the muse you'll NEVER know what happens next…**

**A/N****2: **Maybe you are curious as to what, exactly, were they listening/dancing to in this chapter. Maybe actually hearing it would put you more "in the mood". Or maybe you're really enjoying this "educational fic". Whatever the reason, may I recommend checking out these vids over at YouTube? I'm not getting a cent out of making these recommendations, just trying to get you all in the mood for some Fiesta lovin'…

Tito Puente - – Wilie Colon -  – Elvis Crespo - "Usted" - 


	4. Taxis and Sonnets

**A/N****1:** Muse is thankful that you chose not to kill, maim or injure us. Plus, the teacher in moi is delighted that you recognized my "evil-ness".

**A/N2**FF does not like urls, it ate up the ones I wrote on my last A/N! Oh well… Tito Puentes, "Gitana" by Willie Colon and "Usted" are easy to find when googled. If you YouTube, you can watch the clip someone made using Elvis Crespo's "Suavemente" and scenes from the movie "Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights"; that'll give you a pretty good idea of what our heroes were doing in the last chapter!

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Flack knew he was doomed the moment his thumb touched her lips. As if by its own volition, his other hand was now tangled in her curls. Her face was close, so close… he could feel her breathing on his own and it was driving him slowly out of his mind. As a cop, he had learned the value of restraint and perfect timing, and he wanted to be 103 sure that Stella wanted this as well. He looked at her, eyes closed, lips slightly open, cheeks flushed, and he knew just then that life was giving him a second chance at love.

Only problem was, he was too afraid to take it.

His mind was screaming at him to think this over, to think this twice, to take a step back and analyze if this was such a good idea after all. His body, however, seemed to have a mind of its own, and when Stella licked her lips nervously and the tip of her tongue touched his thumb, his brain had a complete shut-down. Moving his hand from her cheek to her neck, and gently cradling her head with the other one, he closed the gap between their faces.

"Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo…" he murmured, before touching his lips to hers.

Stella knew she was in trouble as soon as his thumb touched her lips. He was taking his sweet time torturing her, or giving her time to react and flee, and he was effectively achieving the first while she completely failed to do the second. She was afraid, not of him, but of how she'd react if he did kiss her. As much as her body thought it would be a great idea to be ravished against the wall that very minute, her mind was terrified at the idea of a passionate display.

And he must have felt that reticence in her, for his kiss was a mere whisper of his mouth on hers, a brief caress, the gentlest of touches… just enough to leave her wanting for more and just enough to leave her wondering if he had kissed her at all. He moved back an inch, gauging her reaction as well as his, and when he was sure she was okay with this, he moved in closer again…

And then her cell phone rang, startling them both.

She juggled with her phone for a couple of seconds before answering it, trying her best not to sound to breathless, turning her back to Flack .

"Bonasera. Yes… I see… Uh-huh. Got those already. Okay, I'll be there ASAP."

She closed her phone and turned to Flack. "That was ADA Curtis. Says she needs the file case right now, as she's going to pull an all nighter to have everything ready by 10 am tomorrow. I… I have to go…"

Stella found herself at a loss for words. What do you say after an evening such as this had been? "Thanks for dinner, the dance and the kiss?" Flack had merely nodded as she relayed the information, thus making her decision even tougher. In the end, she decided to ignore the white elephant standing between them and sought shelter in the comfort of their every day work.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the precinct, then…"

She moved away form him and gathered the files on the table. Without looking back at him, she headed for the door.

"Wait…"

Just that one word. But it made her halt, both step and heart. Slowly, she turned around to see him.

"I'll drive you."

He went into the bedroom to put on some sneakers and get his wallet, keys and badge. He also used the time to get his feelings back under control. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if the phone had not rang. All he knew is that he was going to kiss her again. What happened after that second kiss would remain a mystery. He threw a wistful glance at his bed. Yeah, that would have been a great way to end the evening…

Stella had also used his absence to collect herself. The evening had been perfect, all the way down to the barely-there kiss. She both thanked and cursed Andrea for phoning her when she did. She wanted a repeat of the kiss, several repeats, actually, and she wasn't sure if she'd put a stop to things before they went too far. If she was honest with herself, if push had come to shove, she would have gladly spent the night with him…

"All set" he said upon returning.

"You sure you're up for it?" she asked, motioning to the forgotten bottle of wine, still sitting on the coffee table.

"Yeah… I only had 2 and a half glasses… danced away half of it already… I'm cool. You don't need to know under how much influence I've driven before." Stella didn't look very convinced. "Okay, okay. We'll cab it…"

He made a production of dropping the keys on the kitchen counter. "There, see? No car keys. But I'm warning you, Stella, if we don't flag a taxi in 10 minutes, I'm making you come up to get them…"

He closed the door behind them and grabbed the files from her. They climbed down the 3 flights of stairs in silence, each lost in their own world, a tiny part of them wishing they could have had the chance to get lost in the other's, as well. Luck was on Stella's side, as they found a taxi in 3 minutes flat. The ride Andrea Curtis' home was done in companionable silence. Once they got there, Flack handed Stella the files.

"You're not coming in?" she asked.

Flack stared down at his attire. "Not exactly dressed to visit ADA's, am I? Go ahead; I'll wait for you here."

"You sure?" she asked, worriedly.

"I'm outta here in 15 minutes, Bonasera. It's up to you if you join me or not…"

Stella swatted him with the files in a playful gesture. "Give me 20 and I might buy you breakfast sometime next week for all your trouble…"

Flack sat at the stairs leading to the entrance of Andrea's brownstone. Inasmuch as he didn't want to read too much into Stella's last statement, he couldn't help it. In his experience, buying someone breakfast always came after spending the night together. The important question here was, did Stella share the same point of view? Or was she simply implying they'd meet bright and early before their shift started and grab a bite some place near?

His thoughts went back to Eugenia, as they usually did when he was contemplating sex with a new woman. He had never considered himself a player, in fact, he was a late bloomer. He was a junior in high school when he had his first date, and didn't actually reach "third base" until his high school prom night. His cousins and team buds gave him a hard time about it, calling him "the last virgin in Yonkers". Things didn't get any better when he got to college; between classes, practices and studying, he barely had time to sleep, let alone meet girls he'd be interested enough in as to ask on a date or back to his dorm room. Sure, the team hooked up every now and then with the cheerleaders, but nothing beyond some hot and heavy petting in the back seat of Kramsky's car. His team mates kinda ribbed him about the lack of a dating life, the usual gay jokes thrown in for good measure.

Flack had laughed and joked back ("your momma wasn't complaining last night!") but he had actually started questioning himself about his own sexual nature. Sure, he adored women's bodies. And kissing them. He could literally spend hours kissing and touching the girl he was with. It just so happened that he didn't feel the need or the urge to take it beyond that. He got aroused, all right. His throbbing erections usually got relief by either dry humping, hand or blow jobs… or jerking off in the shower when he got home. But the actual act of penetration… love making… fucking… that was something that both fascinated and terrified him. His very best female friend and long-time "official" date, Malena, had accused him of being afraid of intimacy after she had tried, unsuccessfully, to actually rape him on his last visit home.

It had been precisely that incident that got him wondering if there was something wrong with him. He had gotten back to his parent's place only to find Malena, naked, waiting for him on his bed. It hadn't been too difficult for her to get him equally naked and fully aroused in less than 5 minutes. And it wasn't as if she hadn't been thankful for the huge amount of foreplay and the two toe-curling orgasms he'd given her. But when it had been the right time for him to get inside her, he simply couldn't. Malena was stubborn as a mule and tried every trick in her bag, including attempting to impale herself on him… but nothing worked out. The moment his cock got anywhere near her entrance… well… fortunately for his reputation, Malena adored him (truth to be told, she wasn't going to risk loosing the best oral sex she'd ever had, either) and it remained between the two of them… and the countless nights he lay in bed wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

All his wondering, however, stopped the moment he met Eugenia. He stayed behind after the first class, asking questions about wine and wine making. He stayed for dinner, asking questions about her family and her life. He had stayed the night as well, asking her if what he was doing was okay. And when he found himself buried deep inside of her, he knew that not only there wasn't anything wrong with him, but that his first sexual experience was meant to be his first love experience as well. And he was thankful for that.

After that first night together, he only went back to his own dorm room to shower or get a change of clothes. By the time the seminar was over, he had pretty much made up for all the "lost" time. He couldn't have asked for a better teacher; not only did she teach him everything she knew about wine, but also, everything she knew about love, sex and a couple of perversions, as well. When she told him she was headed back to Spain, there wasn't really much question as to whether he'd follow her or not. It wasn't even an option; he needed her in his life just as he had needed hockey to live. Or air, for that matter.

It had been wonderful while it lasted, and although he had known since day one that this wasn't eternal or permanent, it was easy to fool themselves into not thinking about the future as the days turned into weeks and the weeks became months. Italy, Portugal, France… even Germany, had all been witnesses to their love and passion, for each other, wine and life in general, and Flack couldn't bring himself to consider what was going to happen once he had to go back to the States. His choices were quite limited, now that both hockey and the police academy were not options. He guessed he could always try to get an associate's degree using the credits he had so far and then find some sort of clerical job... and die of boredom before he'd even reached 25.

The sound of the door opening behind him brought him back to present day. He looked down at his watch and saw that Stella had been gone 17 minutes.

"I like pancakes and eggs over easy…" he said casually.

"It wasn't 20 minutes, so don't push your luck."

They stood there for a moment of two. It felt as awkward as the end of a first date, when you debated whether or not to kiss goodbye, or make plans for a second date.

"I guess… you'd better call yourself a taxi. I'll take the subway home, it isn't that far…" Stella murmured.

"Just who, exactly, do you think I am?" The tone of his voice made Stella look up sharply. It was a tone he used with criminals during interrogation, but not one he'd ever used with her. "Look Stella, if I made you uncomfortable or if you think I was way out of line back at my place, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have done that. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you walk back to your place on your own at this time of the night. So cut the bullshit about us going separate ways, cause that ain't gonna happen. Now start walking and not another word on the subject, okay?"

Stella was taken aback by his harshness and straightforwardness, but obeyed nonetheless. Experience had taught her that you did not argue with Detective Don Flack when he issued orders that way.

They began walking in silence again. He was feeling bad for acting so harshly with her. She was wondering if he was regretting having kissed her before. The subway was virtually empty when they got into the car, so they got seats next to one another. Something had been nagging Stella since they had left his apartment, but she knew she wouldn't have the guts to ask him while looking at him, so this side-to-side situation seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so.

"Flack…"

"Yeah?"

"Back at your place, before err … you know… you said something in Spanish. What was it?"

Flack sighed. So she had noticed. Old habits died hard, it seemed, and he was so used to murmuring poetry when kissing Eugenia that it had become a second nature to him to do so… but now that he thought about it, it had been a very long time since he had done it…

"That was the first line of a sonnet by Pablo Neruda."

"Is he the guy from "20 Love Poems and a Desperate Song"?"

Flack smiled. Leave it to Stella to know that kind of thing. "Yes. Him. It was from Sonnet XI."

Stella remained silent, prompting him. He took a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh.

"Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo y por las calles voy sin nutrirme, callado, no me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia, busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día."

His voice got stronger as memory and memories kicked in.

"Estoy hambriento de tu risa resbalada, de tus manos color de furioso granero, tengo hambre de la pálida piedra de tus uñas, quiero comer tu piel como una intacta almendra. Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura, la nariz soberana del arrogante rostro,   
quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pestañas y hambriento vengo y voy olfateando el crepúsculo buscándote, buscando tu corazón caliente como un puma en la soledad de Quitratúe…"

He went silent and she realized she had been holding her breath. "Beautiful.." she muttered.

He threw a casual sideway glance her way. "Did you get it?"

"Not all of it… but the parts I did… beautiful…"

"I hunger for your mouth, your voice, your hair, I walk the streets famished, quietly, as bread does not nourish me anymore. Daybreak maddens me, as I search like a madman for the liquid sound of your steps during the day… I hunger for your cascading laughter, for your wheat-colored hands, for the pale stone of your nails. I want to devour the burnt ray of your beauty, the sovereign nose on your arrogant face, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes…"

His translation was interrupted by the arrival to their stop. They got off and climbed up the stairs and they were back on the street before either one said another word.

"My place is just a block and a half… if you get back on the subway now you'll still make it back home before the last run of the subway…"

Stella was startled by his hands on her shoulders, which forced her to look up at his face. She let out a gasp when she saw the intensity of his emotions on his face.

"Stella… the hell with your "no men" rule. I'm not Frankie, and I'm going to walk your right up to your doorstep. And just to clear things up, I'm NOT sorry I kissed you. If anything, I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to do it again, but I'm correcting that… right now."

And with that, he pulled her close, capturing her mouth with his, as his arms wrapped around her body.

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**A/N: ** You're NOT really surprised I stopped here, are you? Up next: Stella's reaction, why Flack left Eugenia and Europe and how he came around to becoming a cop after all.


	5. Kisses and Poetry

**A/N: **Poor cell phone! Everybody seems to hate it… The idea was suggested to me by notesofwinsey… granted, she suggested it for an entirely different story… but hey, I was paying attention, right?

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This time around, Stella had no doubt that he was indeed kissing her. Totally different from the barely-there kiss he'd given her back at his place. Not quite the to-hell-with-restraint-go-get-a-room variety of kiss, either. It was more the shut-up-and-kiss-me variety, with some where-the-hell-did-he-learn-to-kiss-like-that thrown in for good measure.

Not that she was complaining, mind you.

In between kisses, for Flack was basically showering her mouth and lips with different types of kisses, she could hear murmured bits and pieces of more Spanish poetry, which set her heart and body on fire despite her best intentions of keeping cool about the whole thing. Who knew it was such a fucking turn on to hear Don Flack speaking love words in a foreign language? Who knew this man would be so hard to resist? Her common sense, what little was still around to issue warnings, told her that this had to be the worst idea to ever have crossed her mind since she had moved in with Bill on her 18th birthday…

She unkindly told her common sense to shut the fuck up and allowed herself to get lost in the emotional storm Don Flack was brewing inside of her.

"Antes de amarte, amor, nada era mío" he said, right before capturing her lower lip between his and gently sucking on it.

"Gracias a tu amor vive mi cuerpo oscuro" preceded his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth.

And "Tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía" was virtually sighed into her mouth before he sealed his lips around hers, his tongue seeking hers.

Stella felt her knees go weak after several kisses and minutes had taken place and gone by. She also felt that her place was both too close and too far away at the same time. "If I let him walk me right to the door", she thought, "am I going to let him walk me right into my bed?" The answer, an astounding yes that echoed through her whole being, confirmed how far gone she already was.

Flack slowly stopped his assault on her mouth and rationality began working again. "I kissed Stella Bonasera in the middle of the street just one block away form her place", he thought, marveled at the idea. "And she was kissing me back!"

They just stood there, his hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes fixed on hers, as if trying to read her darkest and deepest feelings. Soon, it all became too much for Stella to bear and she had to find a way to break up the spell somehow. Humour seemed like the best option just then. Play it lightly, don't read too much into it, don't throw yourself at him too quickly…

"Not that I'm complaining, Flack, but what is it with the kisses and the Spanish poetry?" she asked, half jokingly, trying to break his gaze on hers.

"What?"

"Well... uh… just before you kissed me… both times… you recited poetry and… Don, are you okay?"

Flack had released her shoulders as if they were burning his hands, and quickly turned away from her. He would have gladly started to butt his head against the nearest wall, if he hadn't known it would have worried Stella. "How can I be so stupid?" he asked himself over and over again. It terrified him that he had actually done it without noticing it, signaling an ingrained habit… one he thought he had evicted for good.

"Fine, I'm fine, Stell. Come on, I'll walk you home. It's late as it is already"

And with that, he placed his hand on her lower back and began gently but firmly guiding her towards her building. Other than that, he avoided all sort of contact with her, leaving Stella wondering what the hell had she done wrong. Obviously, making light of the whole situation had backfired horribly and for a gut-sinking moment Stella realized that Flack must have interpreted her words as mockery instead of humor.

Flack walked and berated himself. "Damn Geña!" he thought, "You never give up until you've had your way, do you?" His mind flew back to one lazy late summer afternoon as they lay in her bed after making love. He had been staring at her naked body as she sat up and combed her curls and felt that his chest was about to burst with all sorts of feelings that were inside of him. He surprised them both by blurting out "Marry me" just out of the blue. Eugenia had stopped combing her hair for just a millisecond, and then proceeded to continue doing so as if she hadn't heard him. He asked her again, this time down on his knees in front of her.

Eugenia had smiled the sweetest of all her smiles and had basically told him that his marriage proposal was the dumbest idea he had ever had, and he'd had his share of dumb, stupid ideas in the past year. He got upset, she was mocking him and he was serious about it… he truly wanted to marry her, couldn't she see that? Eugenia told him that she knew he meant it, and that it was really sweet of him, but she was never going to marry him. Not then, not next year, not in ten years time, so why waste what they had in stupid arguments?

Flack had been livid. Eugenia told him he'd eventually understand her and forgive her and, in the long run, even agree with her and thank her for her choice. He was adamant that he'd never change his mind. She stood her ground and he threatened to leave. She told him to close the door on his way out and he fell back in bed, defeated. To make it up to him, Eugenia had begun kissing him and reciting his favorite poems. One thing lead to another, and soon they were making love again, his proposal forgotten, her denial dismissed.

The combination of kisses and poetry was the most potent aphrodisiac Flack had ever known. To this day, those two put together were just another form of foreplay, and once the combo got started, he simply couldn't stop. Eugenia Montalvo knew it, and knew it well, and used it against him as often as she wanted to… or needed to.

It had scared Flack to realize he had done it while kissing Stella. He was aware of him wanting her, physically, but he wasn't aware just how deep his desire ran. And it had nothing to do with sex, either, which scared him even more. The only way to get out of this one in one piece, more or less, was to walk away as quickly as possible, get as far away from the temptation Stella Bonasera represented and try to gain some self-control, some self-perspective, some… actually, any self-something would do just then, as her building was now in sight. He walked her up the five steps to the front door, and as soon as she had her key out, he turned around, murmured a "G'night, Stell" and climbed down s quickly as possible.

"I thought you were going to walk me to my own doorstep…"

Her voice made him freeze mid-step. He knew her well enough to be able to read both fear and disappointment in her voice, as well as the veiled reproach, silently demanding an explanation. He debated with himself whether to turn around or continue walking as if he hadn't heard her, but this was Stella, and he'd hate himself forever if he harmed her. Lord knew he'd done more than enough hurting to a woman he loved already in this lifetime, as the memory of Eugenia's tear covered face loomed over him.

Turning around, he climbed back up a couple of steps, until he was level with her face and yet a step lay between them.

"I'm very sorry Stell… it's just that… I… I can't…"

Stella raised her had in an attempt to touch his face, but his own quickly caught it before she had a chance to get close enough to do so.

"Don't. Please, just… don't…"

"Why?"

A simple question, and yet one that was so difficult to answer. He could either try and lie his way out of this one, although he knew perfectly well she would not be fooled, or he could try and tell her the truth, which she might not be ready to hear. He remembered his mother once telling him that "truth kills love less efficiently than lies do" and he finally understood what she meant by that.

"Because if you do, I'm going to have to hold you in my arms once more. And when holding you becomes insufficient, I'm going to need to kiss you again. And once I start kissing you I'm not going to be able to stop until I'm making love to you…"

"And I've been wanting to make love to you for a long time…"

His confession caught Stella off guard. This was Don Flack, for crying out loud! Why, he was like the kid brother she never had… He couldn't possibly feel this way about her, and she certainly didn't feel the same way, did she? The throbbing wetness between her legs told a different story, one Stella couldn't simply just ignore. Not when she felt exactly the same as he did. Not when she was equally scared of feeling it. Not when everything she wanted was just an arm reach away.

But could she trust him? And, more importantly, could she trust herself? As much as the idea of him making love to her made her shiver, in a good way, she was still very much afraid that she'd shy away from his touch as soon as it got too intimate. And Stella wasn't sure if Flack would understand that it wasn't due to him, or what he was doing, but rather, that it was because of her and the emotional paranoia she had been living on since Frankie attacked her.

And yet… here he was. Don Flack was everything she could ask for, except perhaps age-wise… or money-wise, and she wasn't really surprised when she admitted she couldn't care less about either one. So what if she was seven years her senior? The way he had touched her thus far only showed that he was a mature and sensitive lover who was still young enough to be impetuous and adventurous. So what if his paycheck wasn't that much better than hers? Happiness was not found inside a blue box from Tiffany's, after all. And this was only her rationality speaking. If she allowed her heart or her body to take the floor… the chances of them going at it against the entrance wall of her building grew exponentially.

So what, exactly, was stopping her? He had been honest with her, telling her his reasons to be weary of her touch. She could be equally honest with him and ask him to back off a little if things got a tad too much for her too bear. All she needed, she told herself, was a tiny leap of faith. And leap she did…

… right into his arms.

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**A/N: ** Sorry if the update is shorter than usual, but since I get to play both mom and step-mom for the next couple of days I don't think I can update any more before Tuesday or Wednesday.


	6. Bad writing and Majorcan nights

**A/N: ** A bit more angst, a little bit more back story, a little bit more romance…

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Flack had stood there, not really looking at Stella, composing and discarding every single apology that came to mind. No matter what he said, It wouldn't make things right, and he knew it. He'd hurt Stella, unwillingly yes, but hurt nonetheless and he had no idea how to make it up to her without causing further damage.

Out of his range of vision he sensed, more than saw, movement, and a lifetime of quick reflexes and catching things kicked in, making him move one leg back for support and supporting most of their weight against the handrail, thus saving them both from ending sprawled on the sidewalk with something sprained or broken… or worse. This act of impulsiveness was so uncharacteristically Stella that for a brief second he closed his eyes and opened them again, fully expecting to see Eugenia draped on top of him, and not Stella. But it was his friend and coworker who's there, cheeks flushed in embarrassment and excitement, and Flack couldn't help but wonder once more just how… how Eugenia-ish Stella is. Bitter sweetness threatened to break his heart in half… again.

"Would you think less of my manliness if I asked you to get off of me?" he grunted, not sure if his knees would keep on holding at this awkward position.

"Oh… I… sorry… sorry" mumbled Stella, letting go. This wasn't what she had pictured in her mind, but then again her reasoning, if it could be called that, had been fueled mostly by hormones. And in her mind's triple x version of the events, they were making out like madmen. Instead, she was releasing him and he was looking at her with a look of sorrow and regret. Stella wished she could blame the wine, and the salsa, and his kisses for all of this mess and that it could be put past them easily, but something told her she wouldn't be left off the hook so easily. Not when she couldn't even look at his mouth without remembering how it felt on her own.

"Look Stell… this… this is all messed up… I want you. I want you so bad I can barely see straight, let alone stand next to you right now. But I can't have you. Not now, and I don't know when, if ever. I'd do anything if I could change who I am and what I did if that meant a chance with you, but there are some things that can't ever change…" he hesitated for a second, and decided things were already too fucked up that no matter what he said or did, they couldn't get any worse...

"Oh, fuck it. I love you, Stella. Have done so for quite some time. God knows I shouldn't, but I do…"

Except, maybe for coming out and actually telling her he loved her. That's what closed the deal.

Stella sat down on the steps again and rubbed her hands over her face. This certainly couldn't be happening… actually, it could, and it made perfect sense, in the most twisted of ways. When Fate had it bad against you… well, you didn't expect to come out in one piece, did you? Not after everything it has thrown your way: orphanage, foster homes, Billy, Eddie, a long string of losers, Frankie… Stella had grown up convinced that some people were born to never have love in their lives and she was one of such people. Why should things be different with Don?

Flack looked at her and his heart ached. He longed to move his hand towards her hair and touch it… tangle it on her curls… hold her head lovingly in both hands and… He snapped out of it with a start. This is what happened when he allowed his hormones to rule over his neurons. He'd made that mistake often when living with Eugenia, and it brought nothing but pain in the long run. His mind wandered back to a particularly intense weekend spent in Majorca…

They had been making love virtually non-stop since their arrival Thursday night, barely leaving the bed to shower or open the door for the room service guy. It so happened that, when Eugenia woke him up at 4 am with her intentions very clear, Flack had been more than willing to oblige, but had felt something akin to panic when he realized the condom box was empty. However, when he had tried to explain that to Eugenia she had effectively quieted him with a kiss… and another… and another… and before Flack had a chance to react, he was inside of her, and she was riding him for all she was worth.

"Geña... wait… I'm going to… dammit… wait… OH God!"

Eugenia had smiled beatifically as she slid back on top of his chest. "Si, mi amor?"

His rationale was coming down from the orgasm induced high, and he remembered in a flash what he had been trying to do.

"Damn, Geña… I just came inside of you…"

"Yes, amor… and it felt reeeeeeaaaaalllly good…"

He caught her by the shoulders. "Eugenia, don't play stupid with me. I know you, you have two choices when it comes to your cycle… you either go psycho at the end of it or nympho in the middle. And since you were yelling at me to get the hell outta your sight two weekends ago, I'm assuming this is your nympho weekend… fuck, fuck, fuck… what are we going to do?"

"I liked the last suggestion…" she murmured, kissing her way down his chest.

"Stop it. I'm serious, Geña."

"So am I Don… look, I know it's not the best of times, but this is… what? The fifth time we've done it in 36 hours? Do you honestly think you're still shooting live rounds? Don't worry, baby… the odds are severely packed against it…"

Don was still feeling uncertain, but as soon as he felt her tongue on his belly button and heading south his attempts to rationalize what was happening quickly evaporated.

It wasn't until much, much later that she had admitted to having hidden the condoms under the bed…

A barely contained sob brought Flack to present day. And all his stupid resolutions of not touching Stella were thrown out for good as soon as he saw that she was crying. He lounged forward, kneeling in front of her, taking her into his arms, rocking her, soothing her, peppering her hair with kisses and her ears with soft love words. It was wrong, and he knew it, but it was stronger than he'd ever be and damned be his soul if he didn't feel momentarily happy to be there just then, as screwed up as it was.

Stella had taken her leap of faith, and that included letting go of her fears. Letting go of pretenses. She was lonely, she was hurt, and she loved this young man more than she was willing to admit, even to herself. And if that was wrong, so be it. She was not going to fight anymore. Weakly, she allowed herself to be wrapped up in his arms. She allowed herself to cry, as well. So many emotions had been bottled up inside of her, for so long, that it was a huge relief to finally be able to let it all out.

"Shh... it's okay, Stell… it's okay… let it all out… I'm here for you, nena… shh… I'm here for you…"

"It… just… so… fucking… unfair…" mumbled Stella, trying to control her sobs but failing miserably, "you love me…. I love you… and we can't be to… c-can't be to… together…."

"Yeah… you got it… it's screwed-up… royally. But you wouldn't settle for fairy tale happily ever after, would you? Too… boring…."

Stella hiccupped… or perhaps she giggled… or something in between… and Flack decided to keep up the string of nonsense he was weaving, if anything, to get her to calm down…

"Boring yeah… can you picture it? I tell you I love you, you tell me you love me too, you jump into my arms and we kiss… oh wait… you did jump into my arms and we did kiss..."

That got Flack a snort, which he took as a good sign.

"Next, obviously, we'll go up to your place, and we'll be going at it like rabbits during mating season… we'll probably "christen" every single piece of furniture you have and I'm such a stud that I'll manage to make you come… oh.. I dunno… fourteen times sound good to you? before I even break a sweat…"

Another fit of blubbering giggles.

"Now wait. It's 2 in the morning, and I'm assuming it took us at least 4 hours to… well... you know. But we're so good and so responsible that we're back in the Lab fresh as a spring morning before the clock chimes 8. Lindsay and Peyton, which are your very best buds in the whole world take one look at you and instantly KNOW that something happened, and by the time Mac, Danny and I find you, you three are jumping up and down and squealing like banshees…"

Stella snorted. "I don't squeal…"

"Sht, I'm not done yet. Then Lindsay will suggest we have a triple wedding…"

"Make it a quadruple… Sheldon and Angell just realized they're crazy in love, as well…"

"Bonasera, I'm telling the story here. And for your information, Jenn is dating a lab tech, so forget about her and the doc. Now, where was I? Oh yes… the triple wedding, to which we all merrily agree, and we spend the next two weeks dividing our time between catching perps, making out in the locker room and picking china patterns. Gerrard, of course, is pleased as a pumpkin, and not only is he gong to allow all of us to keep working together, but he also managed to convince the commissioner to give us all tickets to a cruise in the Bahamas for our honeymoon…"

This time Stella had stopped crying and was now laughing out loud… a tad hysterically, but laughing nonetheless, and Flack was grateful for that.

"Then three months after the wedding we come to the Lab and gather everyone at the break room and tell them that Don Flack the Third is on his way…" Flack regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, the searing pain they produced too much to bear just then, and decided to end the conversation.

"And that, Bonasera, was Flack's 101 crash course on lousy writing. Now, perhaps it'd be best if we went inside… your neighbors have been peeking almost non-stop through their curtains to see what's going on and I'm certain the two guys on the corner apartment pulled up chairs and are now passing a tub of popcorn whilst watching us…"

Another fit of laughter, less maniac than the previous one, and Flack managed to get Stella to her feet and climb up to the door. Once inside the elevator, Stella moved into his arms, eyes closed, and Flack realized she had been up for close to 20 hours… pretty beat, by the look of it. She murmured something and he had to lower his head to catch what she said.

"Zoë… Zoë Flack… our daughter… and she'll have your eyes and my curls and you're going to want to shoot the first boy to ask her out on a date…"

Flack kissed the top of her head and allowed himself to shed a single tear. Stella had no way of knowing… and it was so endearing to see her take part of his Orwellian fantasy… figures she'd want a girl with a Greek name, too…

Once they were inside her place, he picked her up and led her to the couch. He really wanted to take her to bed, in a non-biblical way, but he was sure she'd freak out if he did so. So, for the time being, the couch would do. Stella offered no resistance when he took off her shoes and seemed at peace cuddling on his lap, head resting in the hollow of his neck.

"Don't leave."

"I won't"

"Promise?"

"I promise I won't leave you…"

Flack felt the familiar knot of anguish forming inside. "Geña, Geña," he thought, "You really are set in me reliving every single part of it, aren't you? What? Think if I do it over again I'll get it right this time around?" He wondered for a minute if he was going crazy, holding imaginary conversations in his mind with a woman who wasn't there… and comparing her to the flesh and bone one who was. The whole thing seemed… unreal…

Eugenia had left for Seville on business, and Flack had stayed behind on the pretext that he had a poetry reading later that day. While it was actually true that he had one, it was also true that he had other plans in mind… plans that could not be carried out with Eugenia around.

As soon as her train had left the station, Flack drove back to the vineyard, but instead of heading to the small villa they were living on, he turned towards the main house. Once there, he had asked to speak with Don Gregorio Montalvo. His palms were all sweaty and his throat was dry when he was ushered into Eugenia's father home office, and if speaking to him, man to man, was going to be difficult, things got a lot worse when he realized Doña Rosario, her mother, was in there as well.

"You wanted to see us, Señor Flack?" was the curt, yet crisp reception the woman gave him.

"Yes. I wanted you to know that I've asked Eugenia to marry me."

Don Gregorio, who had been going over some papers at his desk dropped the pen and looked up at the young man in front of him.

"What did my daughter say?"

"She turned me down"

A sigh of relief escaped Sra. Montalvo, who made no effort to disguise it or excuse it.

"Did she give you a reason as to why not?"

"Actually, she didn't, Don Gregorio, that's why I'm here today. I wanted to ask for your help…"

"Well, well, it does seem like Eugenia hasn't gone completely crazy after all…"

"Gregorio…" one warning word from his wife

"What, Rosario? Am I supposed to be happy that she chose not to marry her American boy toy behind our backs?"

The words stung like a slap, but Flack stood his ground. In a way, he knew the man's criticism wasn't totally undeserved. Eugenia, at 26, was a rich heir that was already working on the family business, traveling around the world trying to open new markets for the wine they produced. And what did he have to offer her? He was barely legal, a foreigner who had no job and no feasible means of earning money, save for some poetry readings here and there and an English lesson around town.

"Don Gregorio… I can understand your opposing to my marrying your daughter… I know our relationship hasn't been one you or Doña Rosario approve of… but I love her and I'd never do anything to hurt her…"

"Enough, señor Flack. I have no idea how can you live with yourself. A man of honour would have never accepted this relationship from the start. I know you Americans think you can do as you please and not have any responsibility for your acts, and perhaps it is my fault for allowing Eugenia to go there on her own…"

"But Don Gregorio…"

"Don't. Not another word from you. Enough sorrow you have brought unto my house as it is already. We consider ourselves lucky that your crazy American ways have not yet damaged the covenant…"

"Covenant? I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand…"

"You mean to tell me Eugenia hasn't told you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about…"

Señor y Señora Montalvo exchanged glances. Perhaps this American boy was just another one of Eugenia's fancies, and more of a victim than the guilty part.

Doña Rosario motioned Flack to come sit by her side, hoping that would make things, if not better, then a little easier.

"Señor Flack… Don… even if we agreed to this craziness you both seem to share, we can't agree to your marriage…" Flack tried to protest, but the older woman raised her hand in a quieting gesture. "You see, boy, Eugenia is engaged, has been so for the past 10 years. We agreed to wait until her 27th birthday to carry on with the nuptials to give them both a chance to see the world and get a taste of life before committing to their duties. But in three months time Eugenia is getting married to Nicolas Valverde and that's the end of the story. I'm really sorry if she'd mislead you, but…"

Flack staggered out of the room and ran all the way back to the villa. Desperation was filling him, and he reviewed the past year of his life for an indication, a sign… something that would have told him the truth and he had chosen to ignore, but nothing came to mind. He threw a punch at the wall, and then another, and another, until the plaster was all gone and his knuckles were a bloody pulp, and then he slid down the wall, crying.

Much later that night, when the door opened, he still didn't know what to say, how to tell Eugenia that her farce had been discovered. But one look at her face told him she already knew that. The streaked mascara all over her cheeks, the messy hair, the bitten lips until blood had been drawn. And all his anger vanished and he opened her arms to her and she fell into them, sobbing. And when there were no more tears, she had begged him.

"Don't leave."

"I won't"

"Promise?"

"I promise I won't leave you…"

Flack had meant it back then. But after what happened in Majorca he had no choice but to break that promise. And here he was, again, promising the woman his heart adored exactly the same thing.

Only this time around he hoped with all his heart he'd be able to keep it.

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**A/N: **I wasn't so mean this time around, was I? And see, I'm posting AHEAD of schedule, so you can't really complain… oh well, if you feel inclined to do so, just push the review button…


	7. Coffee and the Osmonds

**A/N: ** Muse is on a roll. Got nothing against it, except she's making me stay up until 3 am writing!

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Flack woke up, startled. It took him a couple of minutes to realize where he was and who he was with. Damn! He had fallen asleep. His watch read 5:42 am. Eighteen minutes before he'd have to wake Stella up so he could be on his way and she could go about her everyday routine of getting ready to get to work. Not for the first time in the past 6 hours he wished he didn't have to go back to work, but he knew it was asking too much. He had had his day off that week already, and he'd be lucky to get another one in 6 days.

Stella must have been disrupted by his awakening, as she moved restlessly about before settling down again. Flack nearly jumped off the couch when he felt her hand fall high up on his thigh and he began praying his body didn't take notice. Prayer or not, it did, and he realized he'd have to wake up Stella and get the hell out of there before he did something he'd later regret. Kissing, that could be overlooked and explained off as heat-of-the-moment, or comfort-between-two-friends-in-need. What his body was demanding right now could simply NOT be explained away.

"Stell… raise and shine, beautiful…" he murmured, slightly shaking her shoulder.

"Five more minutes, babe…" she mumbled back, trying to regain her previous comfortable spot on top of Flack. Flack panicked, and tried to get up and away from her. The only thing he achieved effectively was sliding off the couch's arm, landing hard on his ass.

And maybe it was the thud from his fall, or the string of choice words cursing it, but he at least achieved to wake Stella up. She was now peering down at him through her curls, a smirk barely concealed, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. Flack thought she looked adorable enough to kiss and had to refrain himself from doing so. However, he archived the whole scene in his cherished memories file. At least now he knew what she looked like upon awakening. The only thing missing, perhaps, was her lips to be more swollen from a night full of kissing and… Flack caught himself mid-daydream and decided that enough was enough. It was his cue to leave.

He stood up, not too gracefully, which she noticed and giggled about. He took it good-naturedly, and used his hand to dishevel her curls on the way to the door.

"What time is it?" she finally asked.

"Six o'clock. I'm barely going to make it at 8 as it is…"

"Forget the car, take the subway"

"Easy for you to say, it's only a block and a half for you. The nearest sub station to my place is 8 blocks."

"I know. I walked them last night. In high heels. So stop being such a wimp."

"You're so dead, Bonasera…"

"You wish, Flack, you wish…"

He made a face at her and she laughed. She got up and walked into the kitchen. "Care for a coffee before leaving, Donnie?"

He stood leaning against the wall. "Sure, Marie."

Stella regarded him with a puzzled look on her face until realization hit her.

"Flack!" she squealed, disgusted

"What?" he squealed back, mimicking her intonation.

"Don't you dare to call me that…ever! I loathed her…besides; you weren't even BORN when that show aired…"

"What can I say? I always had this thing for older woman…" he gave her a significant look, "but I'm willing to make an exception in your case…"

Stella felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment. Where the hell had he learned to woo a woman like that? He seemed to know how to say the right thing at the right time… a perfect gentleman, with enough street savvy and sex appeal to make any woman go weak at the knees. So why her? He could have any woman he wanted… had, if she had heard correctly. She knew both Macca and Angell had gone out with him once or twice… both claimed that "nothing" had happened, and had hinted that it wasn't because of THEIR lack on interest. Stella shook her head. Odds were, this whole thing was her own desperate imagination. Sure, he did say "I love you", but that meant zilch in her book. She could plaster a whole gallery's walls with the "I Love You"s she had gotten in her life… not a single one of them true.

The coffee maker alarm rustled her out of her thoughts and she quickly poured two mugs of the hot liquid. Without really thinking, she quickly added two spoonfuls of sugar to one of them and handed it over to Flack, before turning her back to him and getting her own. She sipped it quietly, looking out the small window in her kitchen, noticing how the pinks and purples in the sky gave way to yellows and blues. She heard him place the mug on the sink and the pregnant pause as he debated what to say before heading out of her apartment. Was he, perhaps, figuring out how to word his parting words before getting out of her life for good? Or was he trying to piece together an apology? Either way, she didn't want to hear it, so he decided to beat him the punch line.

"What do you say if we have dinner later this week?" she asked, praying her voice didn't betray her hope and despair.

Flack hesitated before answering. He'd gladly have dinner with her tonight, every night, even if it was just a measly hot dog from a corner street vendor, but… but he had seen this movie before and it didn't have a happy ending. He didn't care if he got his heart ripped into confetti-sized portions, but he'd never forgive himself if Stella got hurt in the crossfire.

"Uh… I'd love to Stell, but…" he watched her shoulders slump slightly and he felt like the worst scumbag ever to walk this side of the Hudson. "Rain check?"

"Sure" was her unenthusiastic response, making him feel even worse.

"I'll catch you up at the lab later… maybe even work together and grab a quick bite, huh?"

"Yeah… guess we could…"

Flack hated himself for doing this to her. He tried convincing himself that it was for the best. Eugenia's tear-stricken face as she begged him not to leave her haunted his thoughts for a moment or two, reminding him what consequences a spur-of-the-moment decision had brought to his life, still weighing him down with guilt and pain even ten years later. He noticed she had left her mug in the counter next to her, her back still to him, her arms wrapped around her as if trying to protect herself from both his feelings and hers. And something inside of him snapped just then.

It took him three strides to reach her. Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her around, and cradling her face in his hands before she even had a chance to react, he was kissing her again. And this time, he was taking no prisoners, nor waiting for her permission. His mind was set on erasing up to the last shred of doubt from hers, and he was using lips and tongue and teeth to get his message across. He wanted to make sure that Stella Bonasera would never again doubt what he felt for her, even if neither one of them understood what the hell it was.

When he came up for air, he was quick to add. "Dinner. Tonight. And if the rest of Manhattan doesn't go crazy, I'm taking you dancing tomorrow. No promises, though…"

"Huh?" Stella's mind was still half-blown from his kisses and he was talking riddles.

"Can't promise we'll actually make it to the dance floor. Can't promise I won't try to seduce you. Can't promise you'll wake up in your place. Can't even promise if I won't go chicken and don't try anything beyond holding your hand. All I can promise is that I'm going to try my damn best to make this work…somehow…"

Still breathless, both form the kisses and his speech, he let go of her face and turned to leave. The sound of the door closing behind him brought Stella back to the realm of real life, wondering if it had really happened or if her hormones were playing tricks on her mind. She went into the bathroom to shower, and her reflection in the mirror confirmed that it had been real: hormones didn't give your lips that swollen look. Hell, not even Botox got them to look so plump!

Stella didn't notice she was humming to herself while she was getting ready to work. She did notice, however, that she changed her mind four times about what top to wear, and that she packed make-up in her bag…

Flack was too restless to wait for the elevator, and found himself virtually jogging down the stairs. He felt the pull and the burn of the surgery inner scarring, but he didn't care. Quite the opposite. He welcomed it, it was as sign that he was alive, and he was grateful for that. Perhaps one day he'll have the courage to tell Stella that he had fought back to life only because she had begged him to do so. Had she not been there, with him, at the hospital, he wouldn't be here today. When he reached the sidewalk, he didn't slow down. He began jogging towards the subway station, and once there, he took the steps 2 and 3 at the time and reached the platform feeling like a million dollars.

He couldn't remember when was the last time he had felt this good. Sure, casual sex left him feeling a-ok, especially if he had had a difficult case. Right after Truby, for example, he had spent the weekend with four different girls. Not something he was exactly proud of, but it helped him realize just how bad it had been. The worst part, however, was the feeling of emptiness he felt afterwards. Sex was fun, but it paled when compared to actually making love to someone you were crazy about. He had known love, he had been lucky that way, and he had known a passion few people ever got the chance to experience, and for that he was thankful. But then it had been over, not once, but twice, and he had felt… dead… inside for a long time. Sure, there had been sex, he had even made it up to Malena for crying out loud! And that had been, perhaps, the last time he had felt warm after the deed.

And now, perhaps, he might get another chance to feel the same…

He started twirling, still too revved up to remain still, perfectly aware of how weird he looked and not giving a damn about it. And then he saw her… and reality came crashing down on him.

Dark haired woman, curls falling down her back, softly rocking a baby in her arms while she waited for the train as well. Flack began gulping down air, feeling faint, unable to breathe properly. When she turned around, he noticed that she was African-American and not Latina, and felt a little bit of the pressure in his chest let up. Enough to be able to get inside the car when the train pulled in at the station. Enough to sit down and put his head between his legs and desperately try to breathe normally again. Enough to realize that until he put the ghosts of his past to rest he didn't stand a chance of a future, not with Stella, not with anybody else. He simply had to let go of the memories that darkened his soul and move on.

But how do you forget that you walked out on the love of your life when you found out she had gotten pregnant with your child in order to avoid marrying someone else?

How did you forgive yourself?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: **Cliffie. Not as bad one as the others. You had to have seen THIS one coming!


	8. Santa Lucia and Holland

**A/N: **I never expected the amount of mixed reactions my last cliffie was going to have! Since it seems the jury's still out on this one, I'm giving you all the facts so you can decide who's the guilty part here: Eugenia or Flack.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Riding in the subway's car, Flack's mind flew back to Rioja. Things had been more less bearable between Eugenia and him after he found out about her engagement. He understood it wasn't her choice, that she had "agreed" to it when she was barely 16, and had long since changed her mind about it. Flack wasn't all that certain her parents would understand that, though, and her not telling them that the engagement was off didn't do anything to assuage his unease, no matter how many times Geña swore she was not going to marry Nicolas.

It didn't put him at ease, either, that she never listed being in love with him as one of the reasons she wasn't going to do so. In retrospective, Flack was honest enough to admit that he had gone with the flow, following a "don't ask what you don't want to know" policy and that he should have asked her in a more adamant way, preferably questions that could only be answered with a simple yes or no, and not be contented with the "I'll figure it out, don't you worry about it" he got whenever they discussed the issue… which wasn't that often to begin with,

A month before Geña's 27th birthday, Señores Montalvo gave a huge dinner party. Party to which he wasn't invited. Party that made him feel uneasy since he heard about it, and worried the moment he realized that Nicolas Valverde and his family were the guests of honor. Eugenia had been in a bad mood since the previous day, and Flack knew better as to get in her way as she got ready for the event. She left their villa without even saying good-bye and to Flack that was even worse. He dreaded his future depended on the outcome of this so-called party, and he hated the fact that he had no say whatsoever in how things developed.

It had gotten worse when, around midnight, Pablo, one of Eugenia's most trusted aides, came knocking and hastily asked him to come quickly to the main house. Flack got there in time to see everyone leaving, and both the Montalvo and the Valverde families standing in Don Gregorio's office. He was also in time to see how Don Gregorio slapped Eugenia across the face, and it took Pablo all his strength to stop him from barging in.

"¡Eres una ramera¡Nos has puesto en ridículo delante de todos nuestros amigos, socios y clientes! Y que decir de la deshonra ante los Valverde…"

("_You whore! You ridiculed us in front of our friends, business associates and clients, not to mention the disgrace you've brought to the Valverdes…")_

Don Gregorio's words rumbled loud enough for Flack to hear them even outside the room. He flinched at the tone of voice the man was using, and had a brief flashback to the last time he had spoken to his own father…

"Don Nicolás, entiendo si usted no desea que el compromiso se lleve a cabo en estas… circunstancias. Pero si aún accede al matrimonio, personalmente llevaré a mi hija a Holanda para… solucionar el problema."

("_Don Nicolas, I understand if you do not wish to carry out the marriage under these… circumstances. But if you're still willing to do so, I'll personally take my daughter to Holland and have this problem… fixed")_

Problem? What problem? And what had Holland to do with it? What the hell was Don Gregorio talking about? And then it dawned on him what kind of "problem" they were talking about and why they could solve it in Holland, where abortion was legalized. But… Geña couldn't be… they had always used some sort of birth control, sometimes even two, one each…

"Señor Montalvo, el problema aquí no es que Eugenia este embarazada… sino que no es un Valverde el que lleva en el vientre…"

("_Mr. Montalvo, the real issue here is not that Eugenia is pregnant… but that it ain't a Valverde she's carrying…")_

So it was true, Geña was pregnant… with their child. Flack couldn't understand why she hadn't told him about it, yet, since she had obviously confirmed it, or else she wouldn't have told her parents and future in-laws.

"Y eso a mi no me garantiza que vaya a ser una esposa fiel… u obediente. Le ordené desde la semana pasada que se deshiciera del Americano, y hasta donde yo sé, él sigue siendo un huésped en casa de los Montalvo..."

("_And that doesn't guarantee that she's going to be a loyal or obedient wife. I ordered her last week to get rid of the American boy, and as far as I know, he's still a guest in your home…")_

Flack felt anger boil inside of him. How dare this… scumbag… suggest Geña was the kind to sleep around? And what was all that about HIM giving orders to HER? Eugenia was her own woman, and if she had wanted Flack gone, she would have told him a long time ago. She'd never ever do it because some retard moron living in the Age of Stone ordered her around as if she were his possession… Flack knew that in many Latino cultures women were still viewed as property, first of their fathers and later of their husbands, and that the marital vows for them included blind obedience and perpetual silence, but he couldn't believe Eugenia, his Eugenia, would accept such impositions. Her marriage to Nicolas Valverde was nothing more than a mere commercial transaction!

"A menos, claro está, que el Americano este aquí con la venia del Señor Montalvo. Lo cual me dice que este arreglo no es honorable ni conveniente a mis intereses. Eugenia, te devuelvo tu palabra de matrimonio…"

("_Unless, of course, the American is here with Mr. Montalvo's blessing. Either way, this arrangement is neither honorable nor convenient to my interests anymore. Eugenia, you can have your marriage word back…")_

And before anyone present could react, Eugenia had crossed the room and slapped Nicolas, hard.

"¡Hipócrita¿Acaso crees que no sé que el hijo mayor de Guillermina es tuyo¿O que el que espera Finita también lo es¿Y tienes el descaro de venirnos a juzgar a mí y a mis padres¿Ya se te olvidó que fueron los tuyos los que vinieron de rodillas a pedir este trato?"

("_Hypocrite__Don't you think I know that Guillermina's oldest son is yours? Or that the baby Finita is expecting is yours, as well? How dare you judge me or my parents! Have you forgotten it was your family who came to us begging for this arrangement?")_

"¡Eugenia¡Suficiente!"

("_Eugenia! That's enough!")_

"Es verdad, Doña Rosario. Ya es suficiente. Don Gregorio, espero comprenda usted las repercusiones de este… teatro… montado por su hija."

("_I agree, Doña Rosario. It's enough. Don Gregorio, I hope you realize the consequences of this… drama… your daughter set up")_

And with that, they were gone. Doña Rosario sat down weakly, her hands to her face. Don Gregorio had his back to his daughter, shoulders squared with anger, as his fists clenched and unclenched. And Eugenia was smiling.

"Asunto resuelto. Y hasta nunca más…"

("_That's done with. For good")_

Flack agreed with her. Good riddance. But did she have to act so bloody happy about it?

"Espero estés satisfecha. Somos el hazmerreír de todo el mundo…"

("_I hope you're pleased with yourself. We're now the laughingstcok in town...")_

Geña's mother also had a point. Her antics did leave the family in a tight spot…

"No es para tanto. Nicolás ya lo sabía. El mismo me llevó al médico para asegurarse de que no era mentira. Ya hablará con sus padres después y el negocio seguirá como si nada…"

("_Nah, it's no big deal. Nicolas already knew. He took me to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy. He'll talk with his parents and business will continue as usual...")_

What the fuck? The scumbag knew about it? Flack felt revolted… it should have been HIM and not Valverde who went with her to the doctor. For a second Flack wondered if Geña could indeed be the cheating type… but he discarded the notion as quickly as it had arrived and felt ashamed of himself for doubting her.

"¡Fuera¡Largo de mi vista¡Y no vuelvas hasta que te hayas deshecho del bastardo, del maldito Americano y estés casada con Nicolás Valverde!"

("_Get out! Get out of my sight! And don't you dare come back until you've gotten rid of that bastard and the fucking American and you're married to Nicolas Valverde!")_

Don Gregorio's outburst was not unexpected… on unwarranted. He was, after all, a man of honour, whose word was as good as any written contract, and his only daughter, his sole heir, had taken it lightly, gotten pregnant outside of an arranged marriage… and the groom-to-be wasn't the father, either. His own parents, although not as old-fashioned or traditional as the Montalvos, had not gone easy on his sister Moira when she had "gotten in trouble" as his grandma used to said. Moira and the boyfriend had come looking for a blessing, and left for good when they found none. Flack had not seen his sister since his sophomore year in high school and he often wondered how she was doing. He knew that Moira Flack was dead to his parents, and, by the looks of it, Eugenia Montalvo was about to die the same way his sister had.

But Eugenia didn't seem to notice, or care. She walked to her father, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulders.

"Despreocúpate, yo me hago cargo del lío…"

("_Don't worry, I'll handle it.")_

And with that, she turned around and left the room, her steps being closely followed by her mother's sobs and her father's grunts of frustration. Flack decided to wait for her at the small rotunda in the garden halfway between the main house and their villa.

When Eugenia arrived, there was a certain spring to her step, as if she was the happiest woman on Earth, without a care in the world.

"I take it the party was a hit" he said, coming from behind the shadow of a tree.

"Oh, amor, don't scare me like that! A hit? That would depend on who you ask. Some might say it was the biggest disaster in the history of Rioja. If you ask me, I'd say everything went according to plan…"

Flack might not have been a cop back then, but he had been born with cop's guts, it was in his blood after all, and his "spidey sense" was running on high.

"So I take it the engagement is off?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"I told you, you had nothing to worry about, corazón. I never intended to marry Nicolás. I just made it clear to my parents…"

"Somehow, I don't think they're too happy with the news…"

"Oh, they'll get over it. It's not the end of the world. In time, they'll see it was for the best. By the way, amor, I have to go out of the country for a few days, and given the circumstances it'd be best if you stayed here and lay low, if you know what I mean…"

Flack couldn't believe his ears. _Please, dear God, tell me she's not planning to do what I think she is…_

"Vamos amor, it's late, I'm tired, let's go to bed, have a quickie and call it a night, what do you say?" Eugenia didn't wait for his reply, but began walking towards their villa.

Flack lost it. "Too bad I can't go with you," he spitted out venomously, "I heard Holland is nice this time of the year…"

Eugenia stopped dead on her tracks and turned around to face him. "Who said anything about Holland?" she asked, her tone icy.

"Your dad did mention it back there…"

"You were spying on me!"

"I wouldn't call it spying when you send Pablo to fetch me so I can witness your farce…"

Eugenia was livid and breathing hard. This was NOT how she had planned this, and she had planned everything down to the minutest detail. Why couldn't her darling boy just shut up and act according to plan?

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

She just shrugged her shoulders. What difference did it make? She was back in the life of the single people; she could still keep him around for a while longer, until the whole fling ran out its course.

"How far along are you?"

"Six weeks, give or take."

Flack made a mental calculation. "Majorca."

It wasn't a question, but she still nodded in reply.

He felt a sick thud in the bottom of his stomach. "It wasn't just mere chance that I ran out of condoms, was it? Or the fact that you "accidentally" flushed down your sponge…"

She tried making light of it. "Come on Donald. I had to do what I had to do in order to get rid of that engagement. If it makes you feel any better, it was Nicolas who gave me the idea…"

No, it didn't make him feel any better, knowing his beloved Eugenia was seeing her groom-to-be (whom he had yet to hear existed) behind his back.

"Nicolas, huh?"

"Oh well… what can I say? Neither one of us was interested in marrying the other. Quite frankly we only got along well in bed… What? Don't you dare give me that look, Donald Flack! You might have been a virgin when we met, but you knew I wasn't, and I certainly wasn't born knowing all the stuff I've taught you!"

"Whose baby is it?"

The sting from her slap was nothing compared to the tearing inside him.

"How dare you!"

"I think I have the right to know. If it's his, I'll drive you to Holland myself right this moment. But if it's mine… I'm entitled to have an opinion on the issue, and it certainly does not involve a trip to Holland anywhere in the near future…"

"You… are … not… entitled… to … one… fucking… thing!"

"It's my child Eugenia. I want you both in my life, in spite of everything. You couldn't marry me before cause you were engaged to Nicolas, but now you're free and the offer stands. Say yes and we'll get married here tomorrow or as soon as we get back to New York…"

Eugenia surprised him by laughing out loud.

"Oh. Oh God. This is too funny! You think Nicolas is the reason I wouldn't marry you? My sweet boy, you can be so endearing at times… I don't marry you simply because I don't want to marry you. And as for this," she gestured her belly, "it is yours, all right, but I'm not planning on keeping it and I don't care what you have to say about it. It's my life, Donald; I do with it as I choose. Take it or leave it."

Flack felt as if his heart had imploded inside his chest. He looked at Eugenia without really knowing who this woman in front of him was. And what was worse, he didn't care. He walked past her, towards the villa, and once there, he started packing. Geña arrived a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, watching him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving Eugenia…"

"What? You can't! I did all of this so we could be together and now you decide to leave?"

Flack didn't answer and kept on putting away his things. Eugenia walked towards him and grabbed him by the wrists.

"Stop! Stop already! Okay, I get it, you're angry. But I never promised you a forever and I thought we had been clear on the "not falling in love" thing…"

"Sorry to disappoint, Geña, but it so happens that I have no control over my heart's decisions. I fell in love with you. And only God knows why, I still want to marry you and have our child. Tell me you'll think about it and I'll stay. But if you want to work things out your way, then there's no reason for me to remain here anymore. It's your call, amor."

Flack could almost see the wheels turning behind her dark eyes. He had always known she was manipulative, but he couldn't believe how far she'd go to get what she wanted. Eugenia had to think, and fast. She always knew this was just a fling. And it wasn't as if she didn't love him, 'cause in a way, she did. Actually, he was the man she'd most loved in her whole life. On the other hand, marriage and kids were not in her agenda for the time being, and she had no way of knowing if they'd ever be.

"Amor… all I can promise right now is that I'll think about it. But please stay. Give me a couple of weeks and then we'll talk again and make a decision. I'm tired, you're tired, we're both upset… why rush into something we'll both regret later? Come on, amor, si? Please? Would you do that for me?"

If her words weren't enough to make his resistance falter, her body knew exactly how to convince him to stay. And since his heart was already invested in her for good, he gave in, hoping against hope that he'd manage to make her change her mind.

He didn't, of course, and by the end of the month he had packed and moved back to the States, leaving a tearful Eugenia staring at him through the airport's gates, still trying to talk to him into seeing things her way, blackmailing him into remembering his promise to never leave her, threatening to denounce him at the Spanish Consulate so he'd be arrested the minute he set foot in the US. Her last attempt, telling him she loved him and would keep their baby, made him falter momentarily. His heart wanted desperately to believe her, but his head knew better. Eugenia couldn't change who she was anymore than he could change who he was. Without a single glance back, he had walked through the gate, and kept walking until he found himself seated inside the plane, where he proceeded slowly but surely to get drunk.

A hand gently shaking him by the shoulders brought him back to present day.

"Sir? Sir… end of the line, sir. You have to get off the car"

End of the line? What the fuck? Flack looked up and groaned when he realized that, in fact, he was at the end of the line. How own stop was 5 behind now, and his watch read 7:25.

"Shit" he murmured under his breath, as he studied his non-existent options. He'd never make it to work on time if he tried going back to his place. That left him only one choice: grab a cab to the station, do the walk of shame (everyone knew that if you showed up wearing yesterday's clothes you were either pulling a double or coming in late after a night of sex), and pray the spare set of clothes he kept in his locker matched somehow. With a sigh, he got off the train and began climbing up to the street level.

Flack groaned again when he realized where he was. Before he could stop himself he did a 270° turn and stared at the bar in the corner. The ad above the canopy still read "Santa Lucia" and the board by the door still claimed they served the best paella in town.

"Figures" he thought to himself. "Just when you think you day can't get any worse… the past comes back and bites you in the ass!"

And if that wasn't so, would anyone please explain to him how he'd ended 15 feet away from the last place he had seen Eugenia alive?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of Stella in the chapter. I had originally planned to give out the whole story over the next 3 installments, but the "whatcha-mean-he-left-her-when-she-was-pregnant???!!!" indignation outburst made me switch over to plan B. So now you know the whole story (at least, where it comes to the "leaving her behind" part) and I promise a bit more romance soon. Once more, thanks for your reviews, both public and private!


	9. Expense reports and Book stores

**A/N: **Oh dear… I've created a monster! Thank you so much for hating Eugenia!

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The rest of the day was not any better. Chief Detective Murray had apparently woken up with a watchman's baton up the wazoo and he wanted every single one of his detectives to feel the burn as well. He had received a call from Danny around eleven, and before he had a chance to even notify the boss, Murray was on his case.

"Flack! We're up to our necks in red tape and pressure from above… so don't even think for a second that you're going to scurry away to play with them lab rats, so hold that thought there. I'll clear it with Taylor."

Flack got back to his desk and obediently began doing the most hated part of his job: paperwork. It wasn't that bad when he had to type up his investigation report and file all the lab reports on the evidence so the file could move on either to cold case or the DA's office. What was irritating beyond belief was the expense report. Gas receipts, toll receipts, ammo vouchers… every single time he had to Kevlar up he needed to keep the damn stub the guy from warehouse gave him. Damn budget cuts…

A little after noon he received a text message from Stella. She was also swamped and it looked as though she was going to be pulling a double. Apparently, the bureaucratic paranoia extended to the lab as well. Except that in their case, they were expected to process evidence AND file expense reports at the same time. They were good, but not THAT good, so it meant that they'd probably go home well after 10 that night. Flack texted back telling her that they'd play it by ear… after all, Old Man Curry's coleslaw dogs tasted just as fine at midnight than they did at noon.

Stella smiled at the message and put her cell phone back in its holder. She had been processing evidence when she decided to text Flack and she was now waiting for the results to show on the screen, humming to herself. Across from her, Mac was also doing some processing and every now and then he looked up to see her, a little smile playing on his face. When he was done, he gathered his results and went over to her work station to drop off the files.

"These are the rest of the results you need to finish typing the report on the Hanson case."

"Thanks Mac" Stella answered, a tad distractedly.

"Stell…" Mac seemed to hesitate for a second, figuring the best way to broach the subject. "I'm happy if you're happy."

Her mouth dropped open for a second, giving him all the confirmation he needed. Damn man was smart as hell, she'd give him that.

"How did you know?" she asked, knowing that denial was out of the question.

"Ten years, Stella. We've worked together for 10 years. We can't fool each other that easily. I know you're seeing someone the same way you knew I had asked Peyton on a date. It's the little things that give us away…"

"Such as?" Stella wanted to know so she'll be able to hide it better from the rest of the team. Flack's weaved fiction had a grain or two of truth in it, and you can't work with people who figure things out for a living and expect them NOT to notice a change in your everyday demeanor.

"You're wearing more make-up that usual. And perfume. You're wearing your hair up, which you usually do when you didn't have enough time to get ready in the morning. Plus you're humming."

"I am certainly NOT! Mac, you know me, I don't hum. I can't carry a tune to save my life."

Mac raised his hands in a surrender gesture. "He knows he's against New York's finest if he makes you unhappy, right?"

"_You have no idea, Mac…"_ she thought to herself. "He is… aware… of the situation, yes."

"Good." Mac squeezed her shoulder in a friendly gesture and turned to leave. He stopped at the door. "I may not be the best source of advice when it comes to relationships, Stella, but a guy that serenades you with boleros seems like a good guy to me."

And with that, he left, leaving Stella in shock. Ten years, indeed, and the man knew her better than she knew herself some times. She wondered how long it'd be before he figured out who was her mysterious suitor. Probably as long as it had taken her to figure out he was dating Peyton… which gave her 3 days, give or take, to figure out what the hell was going on between them. Sighing, Stella went back to the report she had to turn in before she could even THINK about heading home. She hated paperwork sometimes, she really did.

Shortly before two o'clock Murray came out to the bullpen.

"Flack! Seems you'll have to play with the geek squad after all. Go, clean up and get your ass back in that chair ASAP. Now step on it, pretty boy!"

Flack was more than grateful for the interruption. He felt his eyes were about to pop out of his orbits if he had to tally on more entry in his expense report. He didn't mind the reading or the typing, and he wasn't all that bad when it came to speed and accuracy, a fact that, had it not been for his last name, would have made his life as a uniform quite miserable. It was just the numbers that got to him every time.

As he drove to the crime scene he tried to keep his hopes from getting too high. Danny, he'd probably get to baby-sit for Danny. Suspicious circumstances in a store didn't really grant sending in the big guns. Hell, it didn't even require a detective if it was that open and shut as Murray claimed it to be, so probably the store owner knew somebody in the department and had requested special treatment or something.

When he arrived at the scene Danny was already processing and barely grunted a hello. If Flack hated paperwork and bureaucracy bullshit, Messer loathed it. Even more so, since he wasn't the most careful person when it came to keeping tab on all those stubs and receipts.

"What we've got?" Flack asked, in lieu of hello.

"DB. Gun shot, point blank, through and through. Nothing seems to be missing, so I guess we can overrule robbery as the motive." Danny said a hint of tiredness and boredom in his voice.

"Who called it in?" Flack asked one of the uniforms milling about.

"Owner did. Dead guy was his part-time clerk," replied the patrolman.

Flack began looking around. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet… something bothered him about the whole thing. It was… too neat. The cash register appeared untouched, the pc and sound system were still there, both of them turned off. Even the coffee maker was in its place, waiting to be filled. It was as if the guy had just opened the store and had been shot before he even had a chance to start his daily routine.

"Danny… have you found his keys?"

"Keys? No keys around him that I can see. Let me check his pockets." A brief check of the dead man's pockets came out empty. "There are no keys here, Don. Whatcha thinking, blue eyes?"

Flack checked the front desk, opened a couple of drawers and even took a look at the pencil holder. No keys everywhere.

"If this guy was just opening shop, where are his keys?"

"You thinking whoever killed him got the keys?"

"Probably… I mean, look at him, he had yet to remove his jacket, he hadn't started the coffee maker… back lights are still off, meaning he hadn't started his daily routine yet. He had to have those keys with him when he was shot."

Danny turned on his lamp and began looking about. "Why do you think the keys are so important? The owner could have opened up to let him in and then he went out for his breakfast, which is the statement he's giving…"

"Nah… you need keys to get this place up and running. If you have a desk clerk working the register, you trust him enough to open the place up on his own. He probably opened up the place, put the mail on the desk, took off his jacket, got the coffee machine going and turned on the lights on the rest of the store. Then he'd probably check the warehouse for any overnight deliveries that need to be logged in, and the special deliveries that would require him to contact the customers who ordered them. Then he'd get back to the front desk, boot the computer, have his first coffee of the day, give a final once over and flip the door's sign to "Open"..."

"Who are you? Agatha Christie? The guy from "Clue"? Next thing I know you'll be telling me it was the book keeper with the candlestick in the foyer… "

"I'm more a "Monopoly" guy. "Clue" got boring after a while. I mean, how many ways can you kill someone when you only have 6 suspects? I used to work at a bookstore a lifetime or two ago…"

"No kidding? I figured you for the guy monitoring the halls and working school patrol after classes…"

"Nah… too boring. Besides, I needed the extra cash to pay for dates, ya know…"

Truth was, Flack had needed the money in order to survive. He had come back to the States with barely 400 dollars in a bank account and a broken heart. He had called his mother to let her know he was back in New York, and although she sounded happy about it, she also warned him that his father was still… holding a grudge… over his decision. Laura Flack might be able to give him some money, but he shouldn't expect to be able to move back home… well… never sounded about the right amount of time. Not that Flack was willing to go back to his parents' place. He was too proud to be able to withstand the "I told you so" reaming his old man was surely gonna give him as soon as he saw him.

He had stayed at Malena's place for a couple of weeks until he found a room of his own. She had turned down his offer to pay his share of the bills, at least until he was standing on his own two feet, but she had gladly accepted nooky payments… until the night he had finally broke down and cried his heart out, telling her the whole story. Malena was understanding, but she wasn't stupid. She was not going to be his rebound sex, and they had long missed the relationship bus, but she'd always be his friend. Flack spent the next two weeks sleeping on the couch until his first pay check came in and he was able to move out.

Finding a job had been hard, harder that he had expected. Flack was not afraid of physical jobs, and if this opening at an obscure bookstore/record store had not showed up, he was going to try for a construction apprenticeship. It would have been a waste, after all, he had almost completed two years of college, but he had few choices. The desk clerk position at the store fulfilled most of his needs: he was earning enough to live on his own, the hours were flexible enough for him to consider finishing his degree, and he had thousands and thousands of books to read and records to play, which were the only two passions he had left in this world. Wine, fine wine, for the time being, was going to be put on the "wish I could do but I simply can't afford on this salary" column, right next to catching a foreign film or getting a new winter coat. The winter coat, however, soon moved to the "get or die" column, and Flack was forced to sell his hockey gear in order to get it.

The owner of the book store, George Wells, came back just then and it only took a couple of questions from Flack and Danny before he started sweating, and as soon as the keys were mentioned, the guy broke down. The overnight delivery guy had made a mistake, leaving two boxes full of the latest sold-out best seller instead of the two boxes with sociopolitical texts he had requested. Mr. Wells was not going to let such opportunity pass him by, as the boxes were worth their weight in gold. What he hadn't counted on was that the late Joe Lakes had been brought up better than that, and wasn't comfortable with his boss' get-rich-quick scheme. Before Wells could talk him into it, Joe was headed for the phone to call the delivery company and set the mix-up straight. Wells lost it and shot Joe and then panicked. He thought that setting up a murder scene was the answer to his problems, as he'd divert attention from himself, and when the delivery company came looking for the boxes he could claim they had been stolen… and he'd sell the books on e-bay and no one would be none the wiser.

"Whadda you know? It was an open and shut case after all…" commented Danny as they headed back for their vehicles.

"Paperwork will be a zilch…"

"Especially if you hand it over to one of them uniforms. Whatcha say we meet later tonight for a couple of drinks and shoot some?" Danny asked.

"I'll pass Danny. I'm on call tonight and tomorrow." Flack hoped the lie would stick and Danny wouldn't get too stubborn about it.

Alas, no such luck.

"Wouldn't be the first time we shoot pool while you're on call… I'll drink your share if you'd like…"

"Thanks Danny, I really appreciate it but…"

Danny stopped and took a good look at Flack. He'd heard the rumors at the locker room that a certain Irish detective had done the walk of shame that morning, but hadn't put two and two together back then.

"You're getting' some, aren't you?"

"Oh, grow up, Messer!"

"Shit…"

"What?" Flack wanted out of there as fast as possible. He wasn't in the habit of lying to his friends, but he wasn't ready to discuss with anyone, not even Danny, his feelings towards Stella.

"She's got your number real bad."

"_Shit. Why can't you just play dumb, Messer?"_

"Look who's talking…" Flack counter attacked.

"Whatcha mean?"

"Who's the one who's all pussy whipped by a cowgirl, nonetheless?"

Danny's "aww shucks" grin told Flack that his secret was safe… for now. But it wouldn't be long before they had this conversation again, and no matter how many times he invoked Montana and her charms, Danny was going to want, no, demand, straight answers from him. Answers he was yet unable to give as he himself didn't know the questions to begin with.

They parted with a couple more barbs and soon Flack found himself at his desk, slowly sweating over the last expense report of the past month. If the figures added up, he might be out of the precinct by seven p.m. He decided to wait until after six to text message Stella again, see how she was doing, see if he could kidnap her for dinner and conversation. And maybe a kiss or too thrown in for good measure. And although he had meant to busy himself with the task at hand, his mind kept wandering back to those first months back home…

Three months after returning to New York he was living a peaceful routine: work, read, study, eat, survive, and not think too much about the past. Malena had tried to set him up on a blind date once, but it turned out to be so disastrous that she swore she'd never attempt it again. Not that Flack needed her help. The little drawer at the top of the desk at the bookstore held over a dozen scraps of paper with names and phone numbers, so basically getting laid was a mere phone call away if he was inclined to do so. He wasn't. The mere idea of getting in such close and intimate situation with someone other than Eugenia (or Malena, for that matter) made him sick. He was mourning his innocence, his first love, his… his HUMANITY… and he was set on grieving for as long as it took, which back then seemed it would be a lifetime.

That is, until Malena had showed up at the bookstore with a determined look on her face and had virtually dragged him out of there and unto the small eatery half a block away. Once inside, she had pushed him into a booth and left. His surprise over her attitude was only surpassed by his shock when he realized who was sitting at the booth across from him. She hadn't needed to speak; he would have recognized her smell and her breathing pattern with his eyes closed.

"Hola amor…"

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: ** So, she came back the States looking for him… or so it seems…


	10. Irish and Latinos

**A/N: ** Can't begin to thank you for all the nice reviews you've given my baby thus far. Hope this next installment doesn't disappoint Eugenia's anti-fans!

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"Flack!" Murray's shrill yell brought Flack back to reality, fast. "When you're done planning your vacay time in Hawaii bring me your godamned reports!"

"_Damn!" _ Flack thought, "_Busted! Note to self: stay on Murray's good side if you're planning to get back to couples' lifestyle…"_

Flack didn't know what startled him more; the fact that he was now doing the "note to self" nonsense or the fact that his subconscious had already made up its mind and was talking couples. He sighed and continued working, half wishing he was out of there, half wishing work would keep him at the precinct until way past his, or anyone else's, bedtime. Flack wasn't a coward, but he was aware he was nowhere near ready to face anyone, let alone Stella. For a moment he considered calling her, telling her a lie, and buying himself more time. But Stella didn't deserve that, and Flack had always prided himself in facing challenges head on…

Luck was seemingly on his side: a triple murder was called and he was out on the streets again. His watch told him it was close to 8 o'clock, so he texted Stella and told her that dinner would have to take a rain check. She texted him back saying she was about to call a rain check herself: she was working a case with Angell and it wasn't looking any good.

At the crime scene, as the ME and the uniforms milled about, he began questioning possible witnesses. One of the cops approached him, telling Flack there was an elderly gentleman who might know something, but who was adamant on speaking only to the detective in charge. Sighing, Flack turned around, half expecting one of those nice gentlemen who had lost touch with reality a while ago, but who still believed they were as lucid as they had been 20 years ago. He froze when he saw a familiar face in the crowd. Older, yes, more wrinkled and tired, yes, but it was him all right. Detective Max O'Hanlon, in the flesh… what little was there, anyway.

"Donnie… I knew it was you…" greeted the old man.

"Hi Uncle Max…" Flack greeted back. O'Hanlon wasn't real family, but he had been Moira's godfather and Flack had grown calling him "uncle". O'Hanlon had been Don Flack Sr.'s partner for many years, until the latter made Detective and the former stayed on the streets until injury and age forced him to desk duty until his retirement a few months after Flack had joined the force.

"Nasty business," commented O'Hanlon, and Flack nodded. He knew the man. He would speak when he was ready to do so.

"Gang busting. Those three," O'Hanlon motioned to the dead bodies on the floor, "were horsing around. Noisy, but minding their own business. They got into the alley, maybe to take a leak or something, and 5 or 6 spics came out of nowhere and beat the crap out of them…"

Flack winced at the usage of the slur but quickly put up his impassive face again. Not quick enough, however, for O'Hanlon not to notice it.

"Crap, kid, I'm sorry! Old habits die hard… your dad and I… we go way back before all this politically correct crap was forced down our throats…" O'Hanlon glanced quickly at Flack's left ring finger. "Still single, huh? Gotta let 'em go, kid. Gotta move ahead. You can't keep clinging to the past cause it ain't gonna let you walk away. Ten years, Donnie. Let it rest."

Flack dismissed the old man's words and finished taking his statement. He thanked O'Hanlon for the information and proceeded to check with the patrolmen, see what they knew about gang fights involving Latinos. By the time he was done, it was close to ten o'clock, and he decided to call it a night, at least, work wise. He debated for a second before pulling his cell phone out.

"Bonasera"

Her voice… there was something about her voice that finally undid him. He fought hard to swallow the lump in his throat, but he knew it was a lost battle. Before he could control himself, a sob escaped him.

"Don? Are you all right?" She was now worried, and he hated doing that to her.

"I… I'm sorry, Stell… it's just that… it's been such a shitty day…" he gulped down another sob. "It's been a fucking decade Stella and I just can't…."

Stella was torn. On the one hand, she was perfectly aware of the way Hawkes was looking at her, wondering what was wrong with Flack, which pretty much limited what she could and could not say. On the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to console him, demand to know where he was and go find him, wrap her arms around him and let him cry it out, whatever it was.

"I'm… I'm sorry Stell… I shouldn't have called you… I… I'm gonna go home now…"

"Shall I meet you there?" she asked, wishing he'd let her in, he'd let her help him, wishing he'd understand that she was there for him, no matter what.

"Yonkers, amor…" he used the term of endearment without even realizing it, and it felt bittersweet. "I have… I have to settle some old scores…"

And with that, he hung up, leaving Stella with more questions than answers and with a Sheldon Hawkes ready to spring into action.

"Everything okay?" he asked, giving Stella room to elaborate.

"I think so. Family issues."

It was all she said, and they finished up the crime scene in silence, only talking to point out this and that. Once everything was back in the truck, Hawkes turned to her and asked if she wanted to grab something to eat before they headed back to the lab. Stella agreed and smiled gratefully… leave it to Sheldon to have the finesse of understanding the situation and not push for more.

Flack grabbed a cab to St. Mary's. The ride took almost 45 minutes, given the traffic, but he was in no hurry. He allowed himself to go back in time and let the memories engulf him.

Against his better judgment he had looked at Eugenia and the past 4 months seemed to evaporate. He took in her olive skin, the unruly mahogany curls, the greenish brown eyes… and his heart expanded inside his chest until it threatened to burst. He also took notice the dark circles under her eyes, the smile that did not quite reach her eyes and the puffy cheeks… if he had to take a guess, he'd have to say that Eugenia had gone to hell and back and the journey was showing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a harsh tone that hurt him as deeply as it hurt her, judging by the way she seemed to flinch.

"I had forgotten you Americans did not waste time beating about the bush…" she commented, tiredly. "I came here looking for you… but now that I'm here I don't know what to say. Please tell Malena I'm sorry for all the trouble…"

She got up and Flack stopped breathing for a second.

"Wait."

Eugenia stopped but did not turn around. Flack stood behind her, and before he was aware of what he was doing, his arms went around her. She stiffened for a moment, but then she seemed to let go of all the weight she was carrying on her shoulders, and allowed herself to rest against his chest. Flack rested his chin atop her head and closed his eyes. His hands were now splayed on her belly, and Eugenia placed hers atop his. A moment or two later, a flutter of movement reached his palms and he began shaking. Another movement, like a soft aftershock, and tears began flowing freely down his face.

Flack quickly spun her around and fell to his knees in front of her, pressing his face sideways against her midsection, wrapping his arms around her once more. They stayed that way for a long time, earning curious glances from those grabbing lunch at the eatery, but no one bothered them and no one commented out loud on how uncommon it was… a lanky guy, a pregnant gal and a seemingly complex story between them. But judging by the way he was pressing kisses all over her belly, and the way she was smiling through her tears, it'd be fair to say that whatever had happened, it had been forgiven and forgotten.

And they'd had been right.

They were the happiest two months of his life. It didn't matter that they were barely making a living, both disowned and working low-entry jobs, and that their duo becoming a trio had not been in their plans, but they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

"Contigo, pan y cebollas" was all Eugenia had said when they sat down to discuss their reality. Sure, she had some investments back in Spain, and she had made arrangements with her family's accountant to wire her the money as soon as possible, but that was still several weeks away. She was certain that the money would arrive just in time for the birth, which would be a great help.

"So you see, amor, Diego is going to bring good luck with him…"

"No"

"No? But I thought we'd agreed that the money would be here by…"

"I'm not talking about the money."

"You lost me there, amor. No... what?"

"Sorry, but no Diego. Don Flack the third."

"You're not even talking to you father… you're as good as dead to him, amor. He'll never forgive you for not being a cop… and he'll never accept a half-spic grandson, Donald or no Donald…"

"This isn't about him. It's about me and you. It's my son you're carrying. One day I'll become the only Don Flack and then he'll be junior… and he can grow up to be pretty much what he wants. If he wants to join the force, fine. If he wants to try his hand at hockey, fine. If he wants to pursue a career in wine tasting, fine again…"

"Would you settle for Donald D. Flack? No numerals? Still you, but his own person as well?"

He gave in. Like he had done when she asked him to wait until the baby was born to get married. Like he had done when she told him she was going to work with Malena at "Santa Lucia" tending the bar. He had drawn the line, however, when Eugenia mentioned she had received a postcard from Nicolas Valverde, congratulating them and asking if they'd consider having him as the godfather when baptism time came around. Eugenia, now wiser, had known better than to try to push the issue any further.

The only dark cloud in his blue sky were his parents. He had met with his mother for lunch one Sunday and the reception had been lukewarm at best. Laura Flack had wondered what she had done wrong whilst raising her children, that they had both ended having children out of wedlock.

"_At least"_ she thought, but kept to herself, _"Moira had the good sense to pick an Irish boy… but Donnie… not that I'm surprised… I told Don we should have moved out of the neighborhood when the Latinos invaded it, but he wouldn't hear of it… I guess I ought to be thankful that this didn't happen when he was 16…"_

If one thing could be said about Laura Flack was that she was more open-minded and less prejudiced than Don Flack, Sr. Her son left their lunch date fully aware that his own son would grow without blood grandparents… but with an ever-growing, multi-ethnic, wild and crazy adopted family. Between the eccentric crowds that inhabited "The Dark Owl" bookstore and the rowdy patrons of "Santa Lucia", Donald D. Flack, no numerals, would have more than his hands full.

Flack was brought back to present day when the cab halted outside St. Mary's. He paid the driver and stood outside, hands in his coat's pockets, trying to sum up the necessary nerve to do what he had to. He hadn't been here in a long time, and although he had promised himself he wouldn't allow him to forget, he could never bring himself to come. Ever since his mother had died, he seldom came out to Yonkers… the relationship with his father long dead and buried.

Flack smiled cynically, remembering how the great Lieutenant Don Flack Sr. had showed up at his graduation, posed for the necessary pictures, spoken to the right people to show off his newly broken-in, trained monkey boy… and had left without saying a single word to him. The message couldn't have been clearer: that graduation came 5 years too late to erase all the bad feelings between them. Simply too much water had gone under that bridge, and Flack had no idea if he'd ever forgive his father… or if he'd ever be forgiven for carrying such a grudge against the man who had fathered and raised him… only to let him loose when he refused to be his mirror image.

He shuddered as he remembered the last words they had ever spoken. Flack had been desperate enough to swallow his pride and go begging for his help. Help that had been denied in more ways than one, as he had later learned. Not that it had mattered anymore.

"_Things woul__d had been handled different if you were a police man… but you chose not to be one… there's nothing I can do for you."_

So Flack had done the only thing he could: he helped himself. He joined the force. He made it to Detective. He managed to avoid .the traps his last name was surrounded with. He managed to avoid those who knew and those who remembered. Ha had fought for ten years and he was exhausted. Perhaps O'Hanlon was right, and it was time to let go and move on. But it wasn't his call. At least, not yet.

The gate wasn't locked, which didn't really surprise him, having played here at midnight more nights than he cared to remember. He walked briskly. Time had not erased the path he had learned to walk so long ago, and soon he was standing in front of her headstone. He pondered for a second, before sitting down in the worn knoll of grass right next to her. His finger traced the markings of her name etched in the stone, memories following them in a bittersweet dance of joy and sorrow.

"Hello kiddo. Long time no see, huh?" he said out loud. Not that he was expecting an answer (truth to be told, he'd probably have a heart attack if someone answered him just then) but it FELT like the right thing to do, holding this one-sided conversation out in the open for anyone to hear.

"I know. I promised I'd bring you margaritas and play salsa and show you I had learned to do the danzón. I also promised you I'd bring HER when the time came around. You know who I'm talking about. I… I think the time has come, flaca. I just want to be sure before I introduce you two, you know? You'll like her. She can dance. And she doesn't let me away with any of my usual bullshit. I certainly wouldn't want you two together on my case, that's for sure, nena…"

Flack remained there for a long time. Every now and then he'd wondered out loud if she remembered such and such, or the time they had done this or the other, but mostly he remained quiet, lost in thought and a flurry of memories. His whole life played on the headstone, like those old movies they had watched from the roof of their building when they didn't have enough money to pay for the drive-in.

And he felt at peace with himself.

"I know, flaca, I know. I'm just stalling. I'll do it before the night is over, that's for sure. I just need… a few more minutes…"

He kneeled in front of the headstone and gently kissed the cold surface. Tracing the name once more, he stood up and began walking towards the tiny chapel at the end of the courtyard.

In the moonlight, the words he had just touched glowed:

MALENA ARTEAGA

1977 – 2002

Beloved friend and trusted ally

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: ** I know. You're feeling like Stella just now. More questions than answers. But this is how the story wants to be told…


	11. Father and Son

**A/N: ** Muse is being nice and not giving you a breather…

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Stella sat at her desk looking at the file she had before her. Something just didn't add up and it did nothing to assuage the feeling of dread that had been her constant companion since she had received Don's call.

She had looked up his file, trying to find an address or a phone number she could call to at least know he had made it to Yonkers in one piece. His cell phone was on voice mail, a total no-no for someone in their line of work… only times she'd done that she had being… "otherwise engaged" was the official term for "fucking your brains out"… but she seriously doubted (oh, how she wanted to doubt it!) that this was the case with Flack just now.

In the "Next of Kin" slot was written the name of Laura Flack. On a later date, "deceased" had been added. But there had not been a contact phone number, nor had she found mention of Don Flack Sr. anywhere. She doubted they had left it out of the file simply because it was so obvious… this was NYPD after all, and there were procedures to be followed, which included how to fill in your personal file. If his father's name or info weren't there it was simply because Don hadn't wanted them to be there.

Stella racked her memory to the few times she had met the man, and the only case she had actually worked with him. She was still green as they come, and had been in awe at meeting such a legend… one of New York's finest, indeed. She had been slighted put off by the way he had brushed her off, focusing on Mac the entire time. When she had commented it with Mac he had told her that Lt. Flack was old school cop and she should pay no attention to him.

Later that week, at the monthly "Women Only" gathering with other fellow female officers, she had brought it up as an anecdote. The reaction from Irina Popovich, her senior officer, had been acidic, to say the least. In Irina's opinion, the man had one huge flaw: he was a chauvinist Irish pig. She had recalled a case where he had left all the paperwork for her to type, and the follow-up interviews with the lesser witnesses, which eventually broke the case; in the end, Don Flack Sr. had claimed all the credit for it. When Irina had confronted him, he simply shrugged it off and told her to get used to it… she was a woman, and a Rusky commie, and hell would freeze over before the real cops in NYC allowed her some slack.

Other police women had either experienced his misogynist ways first hand or had heard of someone who had. And his dislike didn't stop at women either… he extended his prejudice to any cop who wasn't Irish. He had refused working with an African American officer, and had had serious confrontations when paired with a Jewish partner. As Mac had said, old school cop, die hard Irish. Fortunately, the force back then was up to 40 Irish males, so he had no problem finding people to work with and people who looked up at him. Old school or not, those had been bad days inside the force.

When news reached insiders that there was a Don Flack JR. in the graduating class of 1997, everyone was expecting more of the same. How far could the apple fall away from the tree, after all? It had surprised more than one to see just how far it had… to quote Irina, "it looked as though the Apple had rolled down the hill and jumped over the brook". He not only spoke Spanish, but soon became best buds with an Italian from Staten Island… and was playing at the midnight courts in a mostly African American team. Stella had later learned that he volunteered from time to time in some sort of "Big Brother" program for minority kids.

It seemed that the rotten tree had managed to give a golden apple. And from the looks of his personal file, the aforementioned apple wanted nothing to do with the tree.

"Hey Stell, planning to stare out a confession from that file or something?"

Danny's voice jarred Stella. A stolen look at her clock told her it was midnight. What the hell was Danny still doing here?

"I thought all of you were gone by now…"

"I was…" Danny replied sheepishly, "but I got home and realized idiot me had left my house keys at my desk's drawer, so I had to come back and get them. What's your excuse?"

Stella bit her lip, weighing in the need of secrecy against the need of finding Don. In the end, it was no contest.

"Danny… where in Yonkers is "home" for Don?"

"Flack in Yonkers?" Danny's voice had an unmistakable "what-the-fuck" quality to it.

"He said he was going home in Yonkers to settle some scores…" she said apprehensively.

Danny looked at Stella intently, and Stella began wondering if it hadn't been a mistake to ask him in the first place.

"Come on, Stella. I'll drive you. I have no idea what the hell pushed him to go there, but I'm telling you, it had to be huge…"

Stella shut down everything and grabbed her things, quickly following Danny towards the parking lot.

"Yonkers for Flack can only mean two things, Stella: he's either blowing his brains out in front of a tomb in St. Mary's or he's at Chez Flack's blowing HIS father's brains out…"

Stella was still trying to process all the info Danny had given her while holding on to dear life as the young man weaved in and out of the traffic.

"Let me see if I got it right. Two very close friends of Flack's were attacked when the place they worked in was robbed. One of them died at the scene and the other one was seriously injured. Flack asked his father to help find the culprit and his dad…"

"His old man basically told him to shove it and not only did not help him, but did everything he could to get in the way of the investigation. In the end, it was filed as a cold case, and Flack had to wait until he made Detective to be able to get his hands on those files. It was dirty, Stella. The whole thing stank to high heavens. Leads left unchecked, witnesses left unquestioned, unprocessed evidence stashed away without proper labeling or any kind of procedure. By the time I got to check it out it was useless, it had been contaminated beyond repair. No DNA, no fingerprints… after six months of investigating on his free time Flack managed to find out that the main suspect in the case had been found dead in an alley, execution style."

"And Flack blames his father for this?"

"That's the weird part, Stella. Flack blames himself. He says that when it comes to these women, he might as well had pulled the trigger himself. The only time we've actually spoken about it I barely made sense of what he said, he was stone cold drunk, slurring in what I can only assume is Spanish, and the only explanation he gave me was "because I wasn't a cop" which makes no sense at all…"

"Wait. When did the crime take place?"

"I don't have the exact date, but I know it happened before he joined the Academy. I've always had the feeling that Flack became a cop no to please his old man, but to find out what happened to his friends…"

To Stella it made sense. They had never finished talking about his past, so Stella had no way of knowing what had happened after Flack had returned from Spain… or how he'd join the force, after all.

"So… if Flack doesn't blame his dad for it, why does he…?" Stella couldn't bring herself to ask the question.

"Wants to whack him? My best guess is that Flack holds a grudge against his dad the size on Texas because he intervened to botch the investigation… I have the feeling Don Flack Sr. was trying to send a message across…"

"And his son got it loud and clear… Don didn't really want to become a cop… did you know he actually had a good shot of becoming a pro hockey player?"

"Yeah… that's kinda what drifted us together in the first place. I was running on a baseball scholarship myself, but I busted my hand and that was the end of the line for me. Flack never mentioned why he dropped out of hockey… I'm assuming he was a pretty good goalie… he's all arms and legs that man… injury must have been real bad to keep him out of the ice for good…"

"He said it was because he fell in love…" murmured Stella under her breath, but Danny managed to hear her.

"Flack? In love? And he told you? He's either very stupid or he's got more balls than me…"

Danny felt Stella's reproachful gaze. "What? Don't give me that look… Listen Stell, I know the timing sucks, but I'm happy for you guys… Prince Charming he ain't, but he's a good man… and he knows he got lucky with you… just… just don't hurt my friend, will ya? He's been through enough already… not that you haven't but… fuck… just how much do you know about the women in his past?"

Stella hesitated. She had experienced all sort of emotions while listening to Danny: elation, frustration, embarrassment, tenderness, a fleeting moment of anger at the veiled mention of Frankie… and now she didn't know what to answer.

"Uhh… I know he moved to Spain following his wine instructor…"

"He… what? Jesus!"

"Please tell me you already knew about that…" Stella was mortified thinking she had been indiscreet by letting out something Flack had chosen no to share with Danny before.

"Oh, I knew about Eugenia all right… a drunk Flack is a very loose lipped Flack and we've gotten soused up real good a couple of times…" Danny was silent for a moment, before adding very softly: "I just realized how seriously in love with you he is… I mean, if you already know about Eugenia and the baby…"

"BABY???"

"Oh shit…."

Needless to say, the rest of the ride was done in a very uncomfortable silence.

Close by, Flack had let himself inside an apartment using the key hidden under a loose board. The place was quiet, save for the sound of the TV in the living room, and that's where he headed after closing de door behind him. An old man, obviously sick, was sitting on a couch in the darkness, bathed only by the bluish tint coming from the TV across the room.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled at Flack, once he realized who had come into his home unannounced.

"Hell, yeah, and good evening to you, too…" answered Flack back, his tone flat.

"You didn't expect a warm welcome when you weasel your way in at midnight, did you?"

"I wasn't expecting one even if I had rang the bell at noon" Don turned on the lamp on the side table and sweeping the remote from it's place, he turned the TV off. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing for us to talk about."

"Why am I not surprised that you haven't changed that tune in the last ten years?"

"Ten years, ten years… don't you ever think of anything else? You and that slut you call sister are exactly the same: you only come to me to whine…"

Don clenched his teeth, but decided not to take the bait. It wouldn't be the first time his father had disrespected his sister just to goad him into an argument that ended with one of them slamming the door on the way out… without having talked about anything at all.

"This time around I want answers, so stop trying to beat about the bush by bringing Moira into it…"

"I already gave you the answers you needed. It's not my fault that they're not the answers you wanted."

Flack sighed and shook his head. He had been foolish to think that age and diabetes had mellowed his father somehow. He stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the familiar street that no longer resembled his childhood memories.

"I'm thinking about getting married…" Flack murmured, surprising himself more than he surprised his father.

"Knowing your penchant for disgracing my last name I'm sure your bride is a negro kike or something like that…"

The venomous hatred in his father's voice made Flack cringe, and he was grateful that his back was turned to him so they wouldn't be able to face one another. He knew his father was from a different generation, but he had never understood his bigotry.

"Nah… couldn't get any of those lovely ladies to date me… seems I wasn't good enough…"

"Whatcha know? Them cunts seem to be smart after all…" Before Don had a chance to open his mouth to answer back, the old man continued: "And what is it to me, anyway? Don't tell me you want my blessing, cause you ain't having it. Don't tell me you want me there, cause it ain't happening, so tell me boy, why come all the way out here to tell me that?"

"Did you ever loved Mom?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Flack Sr.'s voice trembled with rage and a tiny part inside of Flack Jr was elated at having triggered such response.

"I want to know if you loved my mother…"

Don moved away from the window and was now standing in front of his father, staring him down. The older man, a cop himself, recognized the game and stood up to confront him. Don was slightly taken aback when he noticed how small he looked standing there: the man who had towered close to 6'4" was barely reaching the 5'11" mark. He was still imposing, but he had lost that regal overpowering presence Flack remembered from his days of youth.

"Max ought to know better and keep his pie hole shut…"

"O'Hanlon didn't say anything to me. I had my suspicions but you just confirmed them. I'll rephrase my question, Lt. Flack… did you ever love anyone other than you own sorry despicable self…?"

The sting of the slap wasn't unexpected. Don knew he was pushing his father's buttons and was testing the waters to see how far he could get away with it before the Irish temper took over. He remembered the last time his father had hit him; it had been the day he had told him that he was not going into the Academy after high school, that he was going to college on a hockey scholarship. Back then, it had been a closed fist, and it had sent him reeling backwards a couple of feet. The backhand across his face had only managed to rock him on his shoes.

"Don't… disrespect… me… boy…"

"I'm treating you like I'd treat any scumbag I bring in for interrogation. That's how you do it, isn't it? That's how you told me to behave during an interrogation, have you forgotten? Guess what, DAD, the lesson stood."

"So you've gotten all toothy and mighty, huh brat? Am I supposed to feel afraid just cause you're a Detective now? Have you forgotten I'm a Lieutenant and therefore outrank you?"

"You're no longer in active duty so you 're merely a has been right now. But if you insist in keeping with the formalities… I'm here to inform you, Lt. Flack, that the Santa Lucia case is now officially re-opened and your actions during that case are going to be questioned in an IA investigation. As a mere courtesy, I'm letting you know before I turn over the file to my superiors…"

Don thought he saw his father waver a bit, but the old man proudly stood his ground.

"I'm asking you one last time, dad… did you have anything to do with it?"

"I don't know why you think the answer would have changed. It was a botched robbery, Donnie, that's all it was. Street law just happened to find the culprit faster than the criminal system. Nothing good comes out of crying over spilt milk, son. It wasn't such a big deal to begin with…"

The younger man barely managed to control his rage. His father knew it, and a barely concealed smile played on his lips. "I don't see why you're willing to ruin your career over a couple of sluts…"

"Don't…" Flack warned the old man, hand landing hard on his shoulder. "Don't you dare…"

"Donnie, Donnie, Donnie…" said the old man, sitting down on the couch again. "You have too much of your mother in you to be a good cop. Or a good man. All women are sluts, boy, your mother and mine included. Malena strutted her ass all over the block like a bitch in heat even before she'd reached 12... I lost count how many times Max or myself got her out of a parked car or a darkened alley. Why, even in her wheelchair she was giving head to anyone who asked…"

"Shut up…"

"As for the Hispanic whore you brought back here…"

"Shut… up…"

"All she wanted was a green card, Donnie boy…"

"Shut… the fuck… up…"

"And who knew who fathered that baby…"

"SHUT UP!!!!"

Don lost it. Grabbing his fathers by the lapels of his pajama top, he pulled him up till they were face to face. He tried to control is anger, but his breathing was labored and it was taking all his willpower not to smash the other man against the wall… or take out his gun and fill him with lead.

"You… you were behind the whole thing and I'm going to prove it. You murdered my best friend and the love of my life and YOUR GRANDSON…"

"That unborn spic bastard was no relation to me… don't fool yourself Don."

Don let go off his father, who slumped down to the couch grinning like a mad man. Turning around, he moved towards the door to leave.

"You murdered them, Don. If you had been a cop you'd have been able to buy protection for those you loved… and called in favors to get rid of those you didn't…"

Flack stopped cold and turned to see his father, a hard look on his face. His father was now standing in the corridor that lead to his bedroom, his back to his son.

"I'm not going to live long enough to stand trial, IF your case gets that far to begin with, so why waste our time? In the end it was for the best, and one day you'll thank me for it…"

And with that, the old man disappeared into the darkened hallway, leaving a raging speechless Flack behind.

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**A/N: ** Please raise your hands all of you who actually saw THAT coming. The rest of you, hit the review button and start screaming at me…


	12. Eugenia and Malena

**A/N: **I know. Took my sweet time. But the muse was exhausted after doing two chaps in a row! Nice to see most of you have now added Don Flack Sr. to your list of "most hated"…

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Danny wished the queasiness he felt at the bottom of his stomach was just the by-product of one slice too many of Mama Leone's "everything-goes" and not his gut telling him he was too late.

They had decided to divide and conquer, so to speak, and he had dropped off Stella at St. Mary's before heading for Flack's old man's building. He wasn't pleased about leaving her alone at 1 am in a church/cemetery, but that was a lot better than a face-to-face meeting with a man he hated out of love. Danny was certain that he hated Flack Sr. as much as he loved Flack Jr. He had been the first person in his life that hadn't judged him based solely on his last name… and he had extended him the same courtesy. Which was a lot to say, since Danny Messer, trouble attracter extraordinaire, had already had a couple of run-ins with the older man prior to meeting the son. To say such meetings had been unpleasant would have been an understatement, and if the old man had not changed one bit (and he probably hadn't, if any, old age would have made him worse) Stella Bonasera would never be at the receiving end of one of his comments, not if Danny had any say in the matter.

Danny had managed to park about a block away from his destination, and was now briskly walking towards the building when he saw a tall figure emerge from the very door he was heading to. He'd recognize that lanky figure anywhere, and for a moment doubted as to what to do next. Should he go upstairs to check on the old geezer? Nah… if he was a goner, good riddance, he had better things to worry about. Should he approach Flack? What was he gonna tell him if he did so? "The woman you're crazy about was half dead with worry and she asked me to look for you?" Although true, Danny had the distinctive feeling those two had yet to clear some things up, and Danny didn't think Flack would take it kindly if the rest of the gang began meddling, no matter how good their intentions were.

Should he go back to the truck? And then what? Go home? Flack would probably want to be left alone, Danny would if he were him, but Danny couldn't just leave him there. If Flack hadn't wasted his old man he could still very well waste himself. Besides, there was Stella waiting for either one of them, preferably both, back at St. Mary's. Danny decided to follow him at a distance and he did so, for the next 4 or 5 blocks. When it was evident that Flack was headed back to the graveyard, Danny went back to get the truck. By the time he had reached St. Mary's Flack was nowhere to be seen, but the gates were open, and he recalled Stella closing them behind her. Praying for the best, Danny settled down for the long wait. Although he had better places to be just then (Lindsay's bed did come to mind), he was willing to stay inside this truck, the rest of the night if need be, just to be there for his friends when they came out. He just hoped they didn't opt to go all ghoulish all of sudden and start going at it a top of a tomb or something. Oh wait… that had been him, not Don…

Stella had gone first inside the little chapel hoping to find him there, but no such luck. Not knowing exactly what to do next, she had kneeled down and prayed for him, for her, for both of them. It had been a while since she had done so, over a year, to be more precise. If she recalled correctly, the last time she had actually gotten down on her knees to pray for something, it had been at the hospital's chapel, while they waited for Flack to come out of surgery.

When she was done, she began to look around the building. Near the door that led to the graveyard she found an old poster. Tiny little rectangular boxes bearing family's last names ran up and down n what could only be described as a map. It took her a couple of seconds to realize that it was, indeed, a map… one showing family burial plots. Running her finger horizontally across the boxes, it didn't take her long to find one marked "Flack"- it was almost at the end of the yard, right before the spaces marked as "welfare" began. Taking out a pen from her bag, she drew the map on her palm, and throwing one last glance around the chapel, she pushed the door and walked out.

She walked briskly along the markers, checking her "palm" for directions every now and then. She soon reached her destination. The headstone was unkempt, but she still could read the words "Laura Flack" engraved there. A quick glance told her that she had died in 2004 and it pained Stella to realize Flack's mother had died and he hadn't mentioned a word about it… heck, she didn't even remember if he had taken time off, but she was almost certain he hadn't.

Wondering what could have made a mother-son relationship go so badly that in the end he hadn't even cared she began pacing on the walk-away that divided the burial plots. Soon she was ambling through those destined to welfare burials and she wondered, not for the first time, if her biological parents had ended up in one like this. She knew so little about them… Bonasera had been her mother's maiden name, which lead her to believe her parents had not been married at the time of her birth. She knew her father had been Greek because that was what was written underneath "Heritage" in her foster file. But that's as far as her knowledge went. She had spent many a night during her childhood and teenage years wondering what made her so unlovable that not only she had never managed to get adopted, but her own biological parents had rejected her as well. Even as an adult, especially after what had happened with Frankie, she gave in to those dark thoughts, and there were days when she almost managed to convince herself that there, indeed, was something horribly wrong with her.

A religious image embedded in on of the markers caught her attention and she drew closer to admire it. A virgin with a child, a Madonna, done in such exquisite detail that Stella was reminded of those paintings she always associated with European painters. Further inspection of the marker told her it was one of those mother-and-child graves, where the baby had been given just a proper name and a single date underneath it, which coincided with the mother's death date. They had both probably died during a difficult labor or something. The boy's name was meant to be Diego and the mother's…

"I see that you've managed to meet after all…"

Stella scrambled backwards, landing hard on the tomb next to where she had been crouching, hand reaching for her piece, heart threatening to jump out of her throat. She gazed up to see Flack standing over her and she didn't know whether to jump up and hug him or get up and beat the crap out of him for giving her such a scare. In the end, she did none, and remained there, glaring up at him.

"She's usually a lot more graceful than this…" Flack said conversationally, crouching next to the headstone. It took Stella a moment or two to realize he wasn't actually talking to her, but speaking at whomever rested on that grave and for a moment Stella questioned his sanity… and hers, as well.

Flack continued talking to the headstone as if it was the most normal and average thing to do. "Geña, this is the guardian angel you sent my way. Her name is Stella Bonasera, in case you didn't know that already. I know, I know. It's taken me a while to realize she's the one, but I never claimed to be a smart guy, remember?"

The warmth in his voice, the light playful tone, the way his yes lit up… Stella now realized that this was THE woman in his past, the mysterious Eugenia, the woman who had shaped the man he was now… and the woman she should perhaps be thanking for that… wait… angel? Flack was calling her, a street mongrel, an angel? And what was the deal with him saying she was "the one"? Stella had dwelled for too long in her dark side to be able to allow her to hope, but Flack interrupted her before she had a chance to voice her opinion.

"Stella… here lies Eugenia Montalvo, my bride-to-be, and our unborn son, Donald D. Flack. D stands for Diego, the only name they allowed me to put up here since we weren't married at the time of her death. She was gunned down during a robbery at her work place, and by the time help arrived there wasn't anything to do for either one of them…"

Flack's voice got lost in the painful memories and Stella allowed him the chance to mourn his family. It didn't matter that here were no legal documents; Flack was as much a widower as Mac was, except that he couldn't do his crying openly, and whilst Clair had been a victim of terrorism and thus a heroine in a way, Eugenia had been victim of a crime of greed and thus a statistic in the legal system.

Flack had tried many times to remember if there had been anything peculiar about that day, but other than the fact that Geña had slept poorly and was adamant on having blueberry preserves atop her poached eggs, it had been a day like every other one. Around three o'clock Flack had managed to sneak in some time to check up on a couple of pregnancy books (he had become addicted to the "What To Expect" series, but he'd rather die than admit it to Geña or anyone else for that matter) to see if there was anything worrisome about Geña's sleepless night when the bell at the entrance had rung and he came out of his hiding place just in time to see Max O'Hanlon and another cop reach the clerk's desk.

"Hi Uncle Max!" he had greeted cheerily, but the haunted look on the older man chilled his heart.

"Uh… Donnie… I'm afraid I bring bad news…"

"Mom? Is she okay?" Flack had made a move to grab his jacket from behind his chair, ready to run to his mother's bedside at the hospital.

"It's not Laura, Donnie. There was… trouble… at Santa Lucia and…"

The jacket lay forgotten atop of the desk, as Flack made a run for the door, not wasting time asking unnecessary questions. Malena or Eugenia or the baby… it didn't matter; there'd be enough time at the hospital to ask whatever he needed to know as he waited for the outcome of whatever had happened. A young man in uniform had stopped him at the door, and Flack would have probably knocked him down had O'Hanlon not laid his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Donnie. There was nothing to be done…"

"No…"

"The perp shot them both after cleaning the register…"

"No…"

"They were gone by the time the meds showed up…"

"NO!!!"

The anguish threatened to burst his chest open, and he flailed blindly about. Max O'Hanlon gathered his broken body in his arms as it shook with his wailing sobs and the younger cop had wisely looked away. "Fuck you, Don", O'Hanlon thought as he held him, "If you wanted this so badly you ought to have dealt with the consequences yourself… I'm getting tired of cleaning up your shit…"

When the younger Flack had calmed down enough, O'Hanlon drove him to the morgue and stood by his side when the ME had turned down the sheet to show him the mortal remains of Eugenia. O'Hanlon had fully expected another emotional outburst, and had been surprised by the flatness of Don's voice when he asked about the baby.

"It got…" O'Hanlon began

"He" interrupted Flack.

"He?" asked the older cop, not wanting to misinterpret the grieving man standing next to him.

"He. Donald Diego Flack. My son..." Flack's voice faltered again.

"Ahh… he… he got hit as well…" O'Hanlon had always hated this part of the job, the telling to those left behind of the hows and the whens and, if lucky, the whys. But this kid here was family to him… he shouldn't be the one having to tell him that he'd lost his family like that…

"Where's Malena?" Don's question brought O'Hanlon back from his musings, and he spoke to the ME through the intercom, inquiring about the other girl that had been shot.

"They managed to bring her back and rushed her to the hospital. Dunno if she made it or not" was the ME's response. She turned around and moved the sheet up again, wheeling the body back into the morgue. Don watched it go without showing any emotion, and O'Hanlon began to worry about his mental and emotional health. If the kid had snapped…

"Take me to the hospital, Uncle Max."

His voice was so barely there that for a second the older man wondered if he had heard him or not. But one look at this face told him that he had, and even if it wasn't his duty, he took out a cruiser and drove him there. Once they got to the hospital, Don got lost in the midst of all the technical jargon the nurses and doctors had thrown his way: "critical condition", "little chance of recovery", "paraplegic", "permanently and irreversibly disabled", "might not come out of surgery". Flack deleted everything else and held unto "little chance". Even if there was just a .0001 percent of a probability, this was Malena they were talking about, and she would grab it and run for it like the devil was on her heels.

He had sat down on a chair in the waiting room. O'Hanlon had sat with him for a while, but soon it was time for him to get back to work, and he informed Don of it.

"Should you need anything kid…" he offered, hoping the younger man would refuse his offer.

"Find out who did it, Uncle Max."

O'Hanlon had swallowed hard before answering. "Sure thing, kid, sure thing." He hoped it didn't sound as phony to Don's ears as it did to his own.

Malena made it out of surgery, but was wheelchair bound for life. Don had poured himself, body and soul, to look after her, not only because he felt he owed it to her for being always there for him, no matter how fucked up he had been, but because it kept him busy 24/7 and he had no time to think, no time to dwell, no time to mourn. The next 4 months were spent between work and the hospital where Malena was still in rehab. The only other place where he went was the old Irish pub where cops gathered after work, and that was to grill O'Hanlon for information regarding the case. The old man always gave him the same answer, or variations of the topic, but bottom line was that there were no leads so far but they were still looking.

When Malena's time to be released from the hospital neared, Flack had to make some decisions. Neither he nor Malena lived in buildings with elevators, which meant they would have to move. He had sat there, night after night, thinking on how they were going to survive, how were they going to manage, how would he be able to keep his work and still look after Malena. He had been so absorbed in his own world that he had failed to notice that there were others around them that had also mourned and had also worried and had also come to decisions and made plans. The night before Malena was released; a peculiar gathering was waiting for Flack when he came in after work. His boss, her boos, the old neighbors, some customers… the whole "adopted" family was there, with money, ideas, help offerings and, what was best, a first floor loft with one of those huge industrial elevators, which happened to be on the rent control listings. Flack's tears had threatened to fall, but he held back. If he gave an inch he wouldn't be able to hold back the dam, and 4 months of unshed tears over Eugenia and the baby would cam stumbling down and he wasn't sure he'd be able to ever stop them.

And so they moved. And her boss got her a disability paycheck. And his boss allowed him to work from home capturing the inventory. And Mrs. Lopez and Mrs. Rivera, from the old neighborhood, would take turns taking care of Malena while he was at work. And Ramon, who used to be a mechanic's apprentice back when Flack was in high school, now knew enough as to put together all sort of gadgets to make Malena's life easier without having to spend a ton of money in fancy equipment. Old Mr. Holts and his wife had discreetly disposed of Eugenia's things, and well as all the baby stuff they had already purchased and for that, Flack was forever grateful, as he knew he'd never had been able to handle it.

So they settled into their new routine and achieved some pretense of normalcy. Flack continued to seek O'Hanlon and kept getting the same responses. Except that now, the fog that had been inside his head since Eugenia's murder was lifting, and he was beginning to see the holes in the cop's answers and soon Flack was suspecting O'Hanlon of lying to him. He tried approaching other cops, to talk to the detective in charge of the investigation, but the blue wall had closed ranks, leaving him effectively on the outside. There was only one way in, and after another month of half truths and stonewalling, he had swallowed his pride and had looked for his father.

Laura Flack had not been surprised to see his son at her doorstep; she had been waiting for him for the past six months, but was shocked at his appearance. He looked taller, thinner, older… his eyes wore a haunted look only found in those whose suffering was eating them up alive and her heart went out for her only son. And she prayed with all her heart her husband had done the right thing, for she wasn't sure she'd be able to live with such burden placed on her shoulders.

Don had brushed by her with barely a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and had immediately headed to the den looking for his father.

"I need your help" he stated, without any preamble.

"Why should I help you?" the old man has asked, his voice hard and cold.

"Cause once upon a time I was your son…"

"Was. You used the correct tense. You turned your back to every thing I represent and chose to follow your own path. Live with that decision." Flack Sr. turned around to face his desk once more.

"And I'm living with it. And in case you should know, I don't regret any of the decisions I've made… given the chance, I'd make them again. But I need answers in order to keep on living with my choices and I'm not getting any. If not for me, then for three innocent people…"

"Three? I was only aware of two… women… been hurt in the incident…" The contempt the old man felt dripped from every word and it didn't go unnoticed by the younger man.

"My unborn child was also a casualty. I want them avenged. I want the animal who shot a pregnant woman in the belly put behind bars to rot in there…"

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. Won't. What's the difference? Had you been a cop things would be different… the blue wall will be closing AROUND you, protecting you. Who knows, it might have even extended far enough as to protect those you chose to call family… but you chose to turn your back on the uniform, don't be too surprised if the uniform chose to turn its back on you…"

Flack stood there for a moment, watching his father as he turned his back to him again, in more ways than one. As far as the older man was concerned, this conversation was over, and the boy should know better than that.

"Fine. I'll do it your way."

That wasn't something Don Flack Sr. had been expecting, and he turned around for the last time, regarding the man in front of him, as if looking at him for the first time. He hadn't really minded the fact that the kid had decided to go to college. An upper education would do wonders to impulse his career in the force. But then he had gone on to choose such a pansy major… Who wasted their intelligence in books, for crying out loud? Engineering, mechanics, law… those were manly choices, not the cockamamie excuse he had opted for. So what if he was playing a tough sport? Everyone agreed that goalies had the easiest post of them all, rarely getting in brawls… and then the rumors in the 'hood about him not scoring with the girls. Christ, he had paid that stupid tramp to get the job done and she couldn't get him to fuck her! Damned if he was going to accept it… there were no queers among the Flacks and his son was not going to start a trend… His memory fleetingly went back to the scumbag who had dared tell him to his face that his boy was a cocksucker… Flack Sr. had beaten the crap out of him while O'Hanlon had kept unwanted company out of the alley. So the scumbag didn't make it, who cared? It got the lesson across… nobody dared joke about Donnie anymore.

And then he had fallen to a cunt and all had gone to hell. And now the brat had the audacity to come in here demanding his help? He might have been 23 years old, but he was still his father, for God's sake, and he was going to set him straight. He had gotten up and realized, for the first time, that his offspring was now taller than him. And skinny as he might look, he sensed the boy to be wiry, as well. Fine then, if he couldn't do it with his bare fists he could always use the belt; wouldn't be the first time. The boy was going to learn respect one way or another, and he was going to teach him, even if it was the last thing he did.

AS soon as his hand moved to the buckle, the younger man made his move. Some things never changed, his father was atop of that list, and he knew how he'd try to deal with him, as he'd done in the past. Except this time Don was expecting it. No longer a kid, no longer afraid, and with absolutely nothing to loose, he quickly got hold on his father, pinned him to the wall and choke hold him before the older man had a chance to realize what was going on.

"No more. I'm not falling for that anymore. And if you won't help me, I'll find a way to help myself. Just warning you to stay out of my way, cause if you don't, things are going to get ugly real fast…"

He let go of the older man and walked out of the den and out of the apartment building.

"Don't expect any kind of help! I'm going to make your life miserable, boy, so help me God…"

Don Flack Jr. could still hear his father's threats as he climbed down the stairs and went into the street. He kept hearing them inside his head as he got in the cab and gave the driver an address he'd known he'd visit sooner or later. He heard them as he paid the cab and climbed up the stairs and approached the man behind the desk at the entrance.

"My name is Don Flack Jr. I've come to sign up for the next enrollment opening here at the Academy"

And his father's voice went silent for good.

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**A/N: ** Another long chapter, full of angst. Who feels like adding Mrs. Laura Flack to the "most hated" list? Do you still hate Eugenia… much? I know, I've been promising some Flack/Stella tenderness, but the story has yet to finish telling itself!


	13. Officer and Gentleman

**A/N: **I know, the muse took too darn long this time around. But hey, we were on holidays for the first time in 5 years! But now I'm back, the muse is back… let's see where this leads, shall we?

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They had stayed there, Stella silently listening as the memories of Flack's life before joining the force filled the quiet of the night. She shuddered at the thought of Don Flack Sr. being behind the Santa Lucia's robbery, and her dislike for the man was quickly turning to hatred. She wanted to reach out for Don, hold him in her arms, allow him to mourn properly, to find some sort of solace in her presence. If he needed her body to exorcize his own demons, so be it. Stella was willing to make whatever sacrifice was necessary to help him regain his soul, even if it meant not having him in her life as anything other than a work partner. The intensity of her feelings towards him shocked and frightened her, but she had as much say over them as, say, the NYPD solving the Santa Lucia case in a "happily ever after" way.

Flack got up and helped her to do the same. Holding her hand in his, he led the way out of St. Mary's. When they had reached the vicinity of Malena's resting place, he motioned towards it with his head. "We'll come visit her later, when this is over" he murmured and she silently agreed. Not that she didn't want to meet the second most important woman in his life; it was just that she didn't feel like Don would be able to stand any more emotional distress just then.

"Where's Danny?" Flack asked as they neared the entrance.

Stella looked at him, surprised. "How did you…?"

"He's the only one that could have brought you here," Don explained.

Danny had been pondering for the past 20 minutes whether to go looking for them or not, and revved up the truck as soon as he saw them come out of the cemetery.

"Hey Messer! Tell Montana I'm sorry, will ya?" was all the greeting Flack gave and it was all the greeting Danny needed. If his buddy was still joking he was going to be okay, and that's what mattered in the end.

Flack helped Stella get up on the passenger's side and stood next to her, not getting inside the truck. Danny watched as his friend's hands got tangled in Stella's hair, as they looked into each other's eyes without saying a single word. He tried looking away when Flack leaned in to kiss her forehead, and choked on emotion when he heard the whispered "I love you" Don had regaled her with, so heartfelt and free. Danny felt like a voyeur just then, having witnessed this exchange between his two friends, something far more intimate than him walking in on them making love, something he couldn't quite express with words, something he had understood just recently when he realized he could live and die for his Montana and not give a damn what anyone else said about it.

The door closing was his cue to turn his gaze back to the passenger seat. Stella sat there, her body fully turned towards the open window; Flack still standing outside, his hands atop hers on the window frame. Don seemed to have aged eons overnight, a man carrying a burden beyond anyone's help and Danny swore once more, just as he had 5 years prior, to help bring justice to Don's family… even, and especially if, it meant getting Don Flack Sr. to rot in a cell for whatever miserable life the man had left. In Danny Messer's book, the man had stopped being Don's father the moment he set a hand on him to "punish" him for not choosing a life in uniform.

"Take her home, Danny, please"

"Sure thing, Flack. Whatcha 'bout you?"

"I'll crash at Malena's. It's the only place where I'd actually get some sleep" he turned to Stella, "I'm giving you so many rain checks we'll probably have to wait for the monsoon season in order to collect them, hermosa. But I swear I'll make them up to you, somehow…"

"I know… it's not like we planned this… it's not like we're ready… but once we are, I'm taking you on your word to take me dancing…"

She gave him a rueful, encouraging smile, and he brought her hand to his lips to kiss it devoutly. With one last soulful look, he took a step back and slapped the top of the truck to signal Danny to move. And he stayed there, watching as the tail lights of the truck got smaller and smaller, before he started walking towards his old place, the one he had come to call "home" after what seemed a lifetime of heartache and love.

Stella had been right. He had neither planned to fall in love with her just then, nor was he anywhere near ready to make her happy and love her the way she deserved. And yet he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge he found himself needing her… craving her. He was afraid to touch her, for he feared he wouldn't be able to stop until he had crawled inside her skin and taken permanent residence between her thighs.

He reached his old building a little after three in the morning and wondered if he was going to be able to sleep at all. He knew he HAD to, there was no way in hell he was going to function anywhere near normal if he didn't, and no amount of caffeine was going to keep him awake if he did. For a fleeting second, throwing a glance towards the alley across the street, he considered doing a single line, just to get him going for the next 16 hours or so, just enough to get him to the weekend, but he rejected the idea almost as quickly. It was one thing to resort to that kind of thing when you were cramming for finals PLUS playing 2 games in less than 48 hours, and it was something entirely different to give it a go now that he was a cop. And even back then, he had only done it twice. The word "doping" had started to echo loudly even in the dressing rooms of college sports for him or his team mates to indulge on drugs recreationally.

Sighing, he went inside the building, reaching for the keys automatically. Once the lift doors opened, he punched the buttons guided by memory, remembering that he had to give the door a harder pull on the left side. He stood back, leaning on the wall, and for a moment he half expected to see Malena on her wheelchair looking up at him with that look she used to give him, the one that was a cross between amused and irritated, the one that usually preceded on of their "talks".

Malena had been devastated after the shooting in Santa Lucia, not because she was now slave to a wheelchair, but because Eugenia and the baby were gone. She had understood, at base level, that taking care of her was the only thing that was keeping Donnie sane, so she didn't give him too much grief about it. She hadn't been a saint, that was for sure, and she had her period of grieving over the rest of her life as well.

Flack smiled sadly as he remembered her telling him that the thing she missed most was dancing. She had been elated when Ramon and the Cuban gang had arranged enough room at their favorite salon de baile for her to arrive in her wheelchair. He could still hear her laugh, free and joyful, as the whole gang, him included, had taken turns spinning her around the place, like in the old times. It was only after they had gotten home, after he had helped her get in bed that she broke down crying giving in to the grief of being robbed of a "normal" life. Flack had crawled in bed with her, holding her tight, allowing her to cry it all out, attempting to love her as best as his own crippled soul could.

And for the second time in their lives, Malena had literally kicked him out of her bed, refusing to be second best.

He got off the lift and remembered that the door needed some kicking help to open. He kicked it shut as well, with the wry satisfaction of hearing it bang shut behind him. Habit made him leave his keys on the kitchen counter, marveling at the lack of dust. He assumed good ole Mrs. Rivera was still keeping the place clean, just in case Ramon or himself felt like dropping in. One look at the pantry confirmed his theory. Perhaps it would be foolish to keep fresh milk inside the fridge, but he could always count on finding a pot of powdered milk and a mug of bottled water in the pantry. Mrs. Rivera insisted on them drinking milk well beyond their growing years, pointing out every chance she got that they needed to stay strong and healthy due to their line of work… and the path their love had chosen to take.

Don had known Ramon had been in love with Malena even before they were old enough to sneak into the old movie theater to watch adult-rated movies. She had turned him down a gazillion times, always telling him she'll go back to him when, or if, she ever chose to settle down, and the poor guy had held on to the hope of that promise. Flack remembered making fun of Ramon, calling him _cornudo_ whenever they bumped into Malena making out with yet another guy. Deep down, Flack never understood how love could run so deep that you were willing to put up with that, and much more, and still keep on waiting patiently. Until he met Eugenia. After that, all the pity and mockery he'd felt towards Ramon Alhuay, Peruvian mechanic, transformed into admiration and a profound bond between the two men as the years went by.

When Malena had been in the hospital they both had taken turns looking after her. When she had come home, Ramon had figured out how to make some appliances to make her life as easier as possible, even a contraption that allowed her to shower with certain privacy. Not that Malena was very modest to begin with, but she thanked the idea all the same.

When Flack had joined the Academy, he had asked Ramon to move in with them. There was enough room for the three of them (and even a fourth or a fifth inhabitant) and Ramon was already spending more time at their place that at his own, anyway. What Don had never told either one of them was that he was starting to notice a certain pattern when it came to people his father disliked, a pattern that made him nervous… very nervous. And he didn't want to come home to find that Malena had slipped whilst in the bathroom and cracked her skull, or that her oxygen tank lines had gotten tangled somehow and she had choked to death. It wouldn't be the first time that such "accidents" happened around Max O'Hanlon, as Flack had soon learned.

Out of habit, he checked into Malena's bedroom, just like he did every night as soon as he got home. He hadn't been really surprised when he checked in one night only to find Ramon in bed with her. He had been discreet enough as to never come right out and ask about their sex life, but he had to admit to having wondered as to how they managed. And managed they did, for that he was certain of. Malena had never been the quiet type.

Don felt the bittersweet pull of heartache as he took in all the memories this place brought him, but he never once questioned if it had been the right choice to spend this particular night at. Had things been different, or had him being a different kind of man, he would have gladly gone back with Stella and end up spending the night in her bed, but he didn't need that kind of emotional hangover just now. Stella deserved so much better than a mercy fuck, and Flack had promised himself that when the time came he'd show to her just how better she deserved. Sighing, he decided to stay in Malena's bed instead of moving down the hall towards his. He still kept a few boxes of personal stuff here, and he knew himself enough to know that once he saw them he was going to feel like opening them up, taking yet another trip down memory road.

He had done more than enough emotional travel for one day, so he stayed away from his bedroom.

Sighing, he stripped down to his boxers, taking his gun to bed with him, sliding it under the pillow. Another habit that refused to die, even now that he knew the danger was over, but he could never be one hundred percent sure about it. If he had learned something in the past 9 years in the force, it was that some ties bind you for life. The blue wall was thick, and in some places it ran very deep. Flack was aware that when it came to his family, the wall had had to sustain several cracks, as each part of it had had to choose which Flack to surround and protect. And even then, one could never ever be too sure of where loyalties laid.

Max O'Hanlon had thought him that.

Truth was, O'Hanlon ought to have retired before the turn of the century was even a possibility, but he kept on going like the bloody battery rabbit, and the upper-ups realized his value, memory-wise, to the department. So it came as no surprise to anyone when they placed him on desk duty in charge of the cold cases. Most of the times, O'Hanlon's knowledge was far more priceless than the whole lot of boxes regarding some cases. The man might have been old, but he was lucid, and he had been one damn good cop in his day.

Don had been in the force for barely three months when O'Hanlon, in his last days on the beat, had come looking for him.

"Hey Donnie!" the old man had greeted him, perhaps with too much enthusiasm, but not surprising as they had been in the bullpen surrounded by other uniforms and some upper-ups.

"Uncle Max" he had answered back, hoping his tone had the right amount of familiarity mixed with professionalism.

"We need to talk, kid. I have a case that might be related to… ah… you know…"

O'Hanlon knew had to play the game, and Don had been forced to follow the farce. Walking out with him to the patrols, not giving away his eagerness and nervousness, weary of what were the real intentions behind this morsel of information. Flack knew the old man well enough to know that he would never act against his father's orders, and he knew his father well enough to doubt, and even mistrust, this apparent change in the order of the universe known as Lt. Don Flack Sr.

The old cop took his sweet time. He lit a cigarette, had a coughing fit, took another drag and slowly let the smoke drift upwards in a lazy pattern before he started to talk.

"See Donnie, Officer Malone here" O'Hanlon nodded towards the other cop, a guy about Don's age, but with the certain edge that said that he had been in the force for a while now, "is working a murder case. Someone shot someone else in the back of the head in an alley last night and no one seemed to have seen anything. So what else is new, right kid? Right…"

Don had merely nodded, but kept quiet. O'Hanlon was taking his time telling the tale for a reason, and damned if he was going to be the one rushing the old man. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He might be a green cop, but he was born a cop, and he knew better than to trust without proof.

O'Hanlon flicked away his half-smoked cigarette. "Anyway, kid. It seems the vic is one Alfonso Vera…"

Flack gave a start against his will. Alfonso Vera was the prime suspect in the Santa Lucia shooting, although so far they hadn't been able to pin anything on him yet. And now he turned up dead? In an alley? With no witnesses? And O'Hanlon expected him to swallow that without blinking? Just how stupid do these old geezers think he was, anyway?

O'Hanlon kept on talking as if he hadn't noticed Flack's reaction. "… so now, it seems, that we'll have to check on this murder-execution thing to see if it's connected to the Santa Lucia case in any way… I just thought you might be interested in the info… perhaps I could ask the boss to let you work with Malone…"

Don felt the grip on his temper slip. He knew his father felt no remorse whatsoever when it came to delivering low blows, but he never believed he'd go this low. O'Hanlon was dangling the case in front of his face like bait, and they expected him to run with it, bust his ass for a week or two trying to figure out the whole thing, only to be forced to drop in into the unsolved cases boxes at the back of the station until someone in a couple of weeks, or months or years (or maybe even never) came up with some evidence that re-opened the case. And for what? So his father and O'Hanlon could look at him in the face and tell him they've done their best? So that the Santa Lucia case could be filed away for good, swept under the rug forever?

He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. "I'm sorry, Uncle Max, I'm working a case since last week and the workload is impressive. There's a chance I might get a shot at a stint with Narcotics and it wouldn't look good if I dropped my current case to pursue a homicide. It's not as if I wanted to work Homicide, huh?"

Don was lying, and the three of them knew it, but none of them acknowledged it. O'Hanlon made a couple of comments commending him on his devotion to duty, "truly your father's son" crap and such and Malone remained silent.

"I have to go back now, Uncle Max. It's not like I take cigarette breaks, huh? My partner is known for leaving you behind if you're not there when he decides to move out and I'm trying hard to keep up with him…"

The excuse was lame, but it worked. He slid back into the precinct, slowly enough to hear the "Keep an eye on him" O'Hanlon ordered Malone, and Flack wondered, not for the first time, if he'd ever be able to trust anyone in the force at all. He knew it was no coincidence he had been partnered with Moran, or that a miraculous opening in Narcotics was being shoved down his throat. The only hope he had of ever accomplishing things his way lay with a detective who was been put in charge of the evidence lab processing, the so–called CSI lab, one Mac Taylor, who didn't seem to care who his dad had been. The man was a former Marine, or so it was rumored, and he had little patience for political games inside the force. Don had hoped that, if Taylor got the lab management, he'd be able to tag along until he himself made detective and managed to weasel his way into working Homicide.

It had taken him five years, but he finally had made the rank. He remembered Malena attending the small ceremony, one of her rare outings in the past few months. How proud she had been! How she had cried as he encircled her in his arms, telling him he had turned into one fine man, and that now all he had to do was find one fine woman to settle down with so she could die in peace. The fact that Malena had actually died of pneumonia complications two days after he had first laid eyes on Stella Bonasera was an irony that had not escaped Flack.

He missed his dear friend. She had fought courageously as her health got brittler; she had some amazing days, like the one where he had actually had to request permission to miss work in order to take her to meet Christopher Reeve, meeting that had given them both hope for her future. She had some really bad days, and the last year she had gone in and out of the hospital almost on a weekly basis. Every night Flack would go home and help Ramon clean the open sores of her back, and give her withered muscles what little rehab they could without causing her too much discomfort. Ghost pains still plagued her from time to time, and it broke his heart to hear her yell in pain and to see her tears stream down her face.

But she had been a fighter and she went out a fighter, and Flack had been grateful he had been able to spend her last hours with her at home, not in a hospital. She had asked to leave the hospital and he had bullied everyone in sight, flashing his badge to everyone who could make a difference in order to grant her that last wish. He had also been discreet best man at her deathbed wedding to Ramon a couple months prior, as well.

He thought he heard a noise just then, and as instinct kicked in, he second-guessed himself, perhaps for the first time since Malena's death. It might have been a noise, but, then again, he was so fucking tired…

"I know you heard me Donnie, so get up real slowly. And don't try anything funny with that gun you keep under your pillow, either. The time has come for us to have a little chat long overdue…"

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**A/N: ** Hope this chapter was worth the wait. Promise to update before a week's time. Teacher's honour.


	14. Answers and Guns

**A/N: ** The muse hasn't been too willing to cooperate lately, feeling more visual than mental, for whatever reason. Meaning, we (muse and I) made a lovely video trailer for this fic, which I'm now shamelessly promoting in here. If you're so inclined, please visit youtube and look me up under foxdvd. There are three "trailers" up and running and more will come your way next weekend, should you be interested.

And now we shall return to our regular programming…

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It wasn't as if Don hadn't expected this to happen sooner or later, but, dammit, couldn't it have chosen "later", as in "I already slept 6 hours in a row, I can think clearly now and I can keep my temper and my opinions to myself" kind of later?

"You never get tired of this?" he asked, rather conversationally, for a man in his position.

"Paying unexpected visits at three in the morning?"

"Doing my father's dirty work. Must be tiresome after 40 odd years, huh?"

"Shut up, Donnie. You don't know shit what you talking about…"

"I don't Max? I seem to recall you believed it was "like father, like son" when it came to the Flacks… or was that before I pissed off his fucking royal highness"

"Don't disrespect your dad, kid…"

"Max… I've already outlived Christ, I can do without the "kid" tag, k? As for disrespecting my old man, that lying piece of shit you work for…"

The last statement earned him a swat with the pistol O'Hanlon was carrying. In the good old days, such movement would have rendered him unconscious and bleeding. These days, however, it just managed to split open his eyebrow and give him a hollering headache that had already been brewing in the first place.

"Ok. I see you don't have time for niceties. Fine by me, I don't feel like playing gracious host, either. So what do you want?"

"Drop the whole IA shit. Let sleeping dogs lie and bygones be bygones, Donnie. You've already spent one third of your life holding this grudge, it ain't doing either one of you any good…"

"Just like that, huh? Why should I?"

Flack was now bordering the "really pissed off" stage, pictures of Max O'Hanlon flying through the air out of a first floor window dancing in his head. It hadn't been the first time he had wanted to actually kill the old man, and he wondered if this would be the last time he wished him dead. He didn't really hate Max… he was just a stand-in for the one he really despised.

Don had been denied the joy of watching his son grow up, but he seriously doubted he'd ever ruin his life on purpose or as badly as his father had ruined his. Ruined being and understatement. Royally fucked up, was more like it. And what for? For his twisted concept of honor and family? What honor? What family? Don Flack Sr. had effectively destroyed his own family in three brief movements and he dared blame those around him.

Laura Flack had never gotten over the fact that her "sainted" husband, the one that stood ramrod straight in church every Sunday, spent his Friday nights at a whore house, bedding anyone that opened her legs to him, not caring if she was Jewish, Italian, Chinese or black.

Moira Flack had taken the only way out she could find, getting herself pregnant at barely 19 and running away, never to be seen or heard of again.

Don Flack Jr. had run away as well, as far as he could. He'd gone all the way to Europe and back, fuck it, and his father still found a way to screw him up. But Don understood his father, somehow. He always considered women inferior; therefore, Laura and Moira's actions were of no consequence to him, except when it came as to how they reflected on his good standing in the force, the community, the neighborhood…

The son, however, was an entirely different story. The father was going to make sure his heir stuck to the pre-set path, to the beat of his belt, if need be, or else. Don had chosen the "or else" alternative, and his father had made sure he never forgot how disappointed he had been in him for doing so.

Max had sat down on the chair where Flack himself had fallen asleep countless nights while keeping watch on Malena. Don remembered having been sitting there the night she had asked one final favor of him; one he had agreed to, not because he wanted to, but simply because he was never able to deny her anything, not when she was 12 and certainly not now, after two decades had gone by and she had literally held his life, soul, body and heart in her hands too many times to even try to count them. More than once they had wondered if they weren't in love with each other, but they never went beyond wondering. Too chicken to face the consequences, too afraid to loose the only person in the world they could turn to, no matter how fucked up things had gotten. And Don knew he had been, in a way, deeply and crazily in love with her; had been since she had given him a black eye for taunting her with the good ole fashioned "girls can't play baseball" when she was barely a runt and he had still to break the 5 feet tall mark where he had seemed to be stuck for eons while everyone around him sprung like weeds.

What he wouldn't do for Malena? Anything. Everything. Whatever she wanted, all she had to do was ask and he'd do it. She had been the first girl he'd kissed, the second woman he had made love to, and the third phone call he had made as soon as he had returned to New York. He had even broken the law for her, as scared as he was of his old man back then, and he hadn't done it only once, either. He used to tell himself that every kid, no matter how great, took a walk on the wild side every now and then… and weekdays in between, as well. Smoking a joint, joyriding, smuggling into the cinema, buying a six pack with a fake I.D., breaking into an abandoned house, shoplifting a couple of gum sticks (which they had later paid for)… petty things, really, when he looked back at them, but back then it seemed they amounted to a rap sheet as long as his arm.

He should have known better, he ought to have said no once or twice, but Malena knew exactly how to make him abide to her most minute wish, and she repaid his willingness with fierce loyalty and undying faith in him. Don remembered one day specially. His dad was beating the crap out of him for any other reason (a normal occurrence chez Flacks at least once a month) and Don had been taking it in silence, having learned that crying and pleading only prolonged the agony. But this particular time, the old man seemed to be taking out on the kid more than his fair share, and soon the boy's back was bleeding and he was on his knees whimpering in pain, tears running freely down his face as the belt came down again and again, and for a fleeting moment the boy was sure his dad was going to beat him to dead over a broken hockey stick.

And Don Flack Sr. might just have (after all, he had been passed over for promotion in order to make a Nazi slob excuse of a man detective instead), had it not been for Malena, who had held onto the belt as if her life depended on it, screaming for Mrs. Flack at the top of her lungs all the while cursing the policeman in two languages. The whole thing might have ended up in tragedy, and Don wasn't really sure how it had been avoided, exactly, as he passed out as soon as he heard Max's voice telling his father to stop. His back had healed, Malena's face had taken a bit longer to regain her normal shade of olive, and they both moved on to a different adventure. Nowadays, such thing happening would be branded as child abuse and be punished accordingly. Back then, it was normal for a parent to discipline his children as he saw fit, even if it meant physical punishment, and nobody thought twice about it.

"He's dying, you know…"

O'Hanlon's voice brought Flack back into present day.

"So he says, but I've been hearing that one since before Mom died, so excuse me if I'm not holding my breath over it…"

Max sighed. After everything his old partner had put this kid through, it wasn't really surprising that the son wanted nothing to do with the father. But he had promised to try, and ever since that incident over at Pomona, whatever Don Flack wanted, Max O'Hanlon made sure Don Flack got.

They had been very young when it had happened. Max had been in the force a little over 6 months, Don a year longer and the young man looked up at Flack. The man was everything O'Hanlon wanted to be, had everything Max wanted to have, and he followed his partner like a puppy, wishing to learn the ropes and catch the bad guys and bring justice to those in need. But back in late 60's, the concept of justice was sometimes blurred when it came to "the greater good" and they found themselves reaching certain "arrangements" with people that, had circumstances been different, they would normally throw in jail without so much as a second glance. And O'Hanlon had gotten in deeper and deeper, not having a young family to go back to at night, and very soon he had gotten in so deep that only a miracle would save him from going to prison or ending up dead.

The "miracle" had shown up in the shape of Don Flack Sr., who was the first to respond to an "undefined disturbance" in Pomona, only to find his partner beyond stoned, with an under-aged dead hooker on one side and enough LSD to send half the precinct on a multicolored trip in the other. Flack had promised Max to help him if he, in turn, promised to clean his act, and O'Hanlon had been so scared shitless, even in his numbed mind state, that he had agreed. Hell, he would have agreed to sell his soul over to the devil just for a chance to walk out of that one unscathed!

Years later, Max O'Hanlon had to wonder if he hadn't, in fact, done exactly that…

"I know this seems like the same old song and dance, but this time it's for real…"

"Diabetes is taking its good sweet time doing its work, pun intended, Max…" Don's voice dripped with sarcasm and ice.

"He's got cancer, Donnie. It's spread all over… doctors say he won't live beyond three months without surgery, and he's in no shape to undergo one…"

Don had expected not to feel anything when the news finally sank in, but he still had a soul whole enough to remain human despite everything, and it hurt. Not as bad as the other losses in his life, not by a long shot, but a lot more pain than he would have expected given the circumstances.

Max had watched the man before him carefully, gauging his reaction, and was pleased to see the straightening of the back and the tightening of his mouth. Not that he felt any pleasure in bringing Donnie any more pain than what he had already inflicted in his life, but it felt somehow right to see that the son still cared enough.

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?" Don asked out of the blue, catching Max off balance.

"Whatcha mean?"

"Oh, come on, Max… indulge me this time around… who hired Alfonso Vera? Who silenced him? And while we're at the truth game; why them and not me? I know my dad is going to take the secret to his grave, the old bastard, but are you?"

Don regarded O'Hanlon with a cold hard look in his blue eyes, and Max remembered the last time he had seen it, and shuddered.

The first thing Don had done after making it to detective was to request the Santa Lucia cold case file and evidence box. Such requests usually took a day or two to reach a detective's desk, but two weeks went by and the requested file had yet to show up, so he made a second request, with Mac Taylor's endorsement this time around. Ten days later he was still waiting, and his patience was gone.

He had gotten to work that morning, headed for his desk. Upon finding the file wasn't there, he made a beeline for the cold case room… and Max O'Hanlon. The old cop saw him coming and braced himself. He knew the boy would come looking for the file sooner or later, and he had his excuses well rehearsed.

"Donnie! How nice of you to drop by! What an unexpected…"

"Shove it, O'Hanlon. I requested a file almost a month ago. I want it, and I want it now."

"So it's O'Hanlon now, Detective Flack? No need for your Uncle Max, I see…"

"The file…"

"I don't have it. And even if I did…"

Max couldn't finish his sentence. Holding him by the lapels, a raging Flack had raised him up and smashed him against the wall, bringing him up so they were face to face.

"The file… N O W…" Flack growled through clenched teeth, and the cold steel blue of his eyes bore deep into O'Hanlon's soul.

And for the first time in 10 years, Max O'Hanlon thought that perhaps they had made a big mistake…

He had gotten Don what little evidence there was, and was not really surprised when the box had returned to him four months later with nothing added to it, except for a couple interviews and an evidence mismanagement complaint filed by the CSI lab. Max knew he had yet to hear the last of it, but he hoped Flack Jr. had moved into resignation before they met again. Either way, Max O'Hanlon had asked for his retirement that very same day.

"I'm still waiting O'Hanlon. Either you come clean, or you walk out of here, or you shoot me. Do whatever you please. I'm too fucking tired to care, either way. Truth would be nice for a change, but I ain't betting on that one…"

Max O'Hanlon remained sitting down, his sight cast down. Don sighed, cursed under his breath, and slid back into bed.

"Close the door on your way out, then. You'll forgive me for not walking you out, but since you came in uninvited in the first place, I don't think you'll mind much…"

He turned his back to the old man, hand under the pillow, firmly holding his own gun, and he closed his eyes, trying to even his breathing. He had faced the wrong side of a gun his fair share of times during a decade in the force, but it had been the first time he had actually been threatened by Max O'Hanlon or anyone else related to the Santa Lucia shooting, and it had shocked him, perhaps more than the news of his father's imminent death.

"Laura wanted you back. I guess your father did too, in his own way. But they only wanted you, and a clean slate, and they knew that as long as those women were in your life they wouldn't be able to have you…"

Don felt as if he had been hit by a ton of bricks and he began breathing through his mouth in order to calm himself down. If he throttled and choked O'Hanlon to death now he'd never get all the answers…

"We were working the holding cells those days, and we let it slip that the owner of the Santa Lucia kept large sums of money at the counter and only two girls were there to keep watch over it… if it hadn't been Alfonso Vera, there were at least 4 others in there that would sooner or later give in to the temptation. Malone, Moran and others helped spread the word that the police might look the other way if the girls got accidentally in the way during the robbery and before the week was over Vera got the job done… needless to say he was very pissed when he found out there was no money and he took it out on them…"

"And you… you looked the other way…"

"We had too. And then we found out Malena had somehow survived…" Max pondered for a second if he should add Flack Sr.'s comment on that, "whatcha expect from a cockroach?", and decided against it…

"It was already too late. You were already there, and a whole lotta people, too, and we could never get to her, and the whole thing backfired horribly. The more you pushed for answers, the more your father shoved you away and in the end he was regretting having given in to your mother's wishes…"

"My mother's… wishes…" Don repeated slowly, trembling with barely contained rage.

He had spent all this time blaming his father, and in the end it had been his mother who had destroyed his life. Reaching out for whatever memory would save him from drowning, he recalled Malena's last favor: "Forgive your parents. They've done what they've done out of love" and deeply regretted the fact that her last wish was going to be the only want he wasn't going to be able to grant her. He felt like getting up and walking back to St. Mary's to spit and curse on his mother's grave before heading to his father's apartment to kill him with his bare hands. And for a second he was glad he hadn't taken things with Stella farther…

Stella. The moment he allowed her back in his thoughts, his whole anger diffused into something different. Now that he knew the truth he was free from the past… or would be as soon as the bloody bastard who had sired him dropped dead.

This left O'Hanlon to be dealt with…

But before Flack could make up his mind or even move, he felt the cold steel of a gun's barrel against the back of his head.

"Another botched robbery?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't afraid to die; he just hadn't expected to do it so soon, or under these circumstances.

"I'm sorry Donnie. I'm very sorry. You're the son I never had, and I wish I had done better by you…"

A gun going off shattered the silence of the early morning…

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**A/N: **Push the blue lil button if you want to yell at me…


	15. Beginning and End

**A/N: **I had been hoping to post these and the next chapter sometime mid next week, but there seems to be a hurricane out there wanting to come in and play in our backyard, so I'll post this one now and save the other one for the last days of August.

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Stella barely remembered how she got to her own place. All she knew was that there was not going to be any sleep for her that night, that early morning. She had made herself a cup of tea and drank it while pondering her options. She could go through the motions of getting herself in bed, but she knew before she did so that all she was going to accomplish was turn and toss. She could get herself downstairs, grab a cab and head back to Yonkers… except she didn't know exactly where in Yonkers had Don and Malena lived whilst she was alive, so the idea was absurd… wasn't it? She racked her brain trying to remember if the address was somewhere in Flack's file, but she soon gave up. Only way of knowing if it was there or not was going back to her office and read the damn thing from top to bottom. Sighing, she put down her tea cup, grabbed the overnight she kept in the hallway's tiny closet, packed for those "just in case" situations, and headed back to the Lab.

Danny wasn't really surprised when she saw her coming down the sidewalk, gym bag in hand. Stella wasn't too surprised to see him, either, except, perhaps, for the lit cigarette in his left hand. She knew he had quit smoking a long time ago, but she also understood why he'd revert for a smoke in certain situations, and this one did call for a cigarette. Hell, she'd ask him for one herself if she had had the habit!

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" she greeted him at the stairs going up to the precinct.

"Nah. Too worked up. 'Sides, Montana would skin me alive if I woke her up a 2 am for something other than some nooky… and I don't think I'm up for the job just now, no pun intended…" he replied, impish smirk included, before taking the last drag out of the cigarette and flicking it into the night. "Let's go see what the graveyards are up to, shall we?"

He took her bag and offered his arm, and before they could even start going up the stairs, a guy in uniform came running towards them.

"Messer! Hey, wait up, man!"

They both turned to face the young man, who was obviously in a hurry to delay some news.

"You and Flack still interested in what goes on in Yonkers?"

At the mention of the place, they both felt their stomachs tighten and wound, like coils ready to spring into action in any second.

"Might. Why?" answered Danny, not wanting to convey too much interest. You never knew who might be watching…

"Heard on the radio that there were gun shots at Flack's old place… hey! Where you going?"

They had both jumped to the sidewalk and began running towards Danny's truck before the officer had finished delivering the news. "Call two backups, tell 'em to proceed with extreme caution!" shouted Stella over her shoulder as she got inside the truck and barely closed the door as Danny hit the accelerator, screeching out of his parking place.

"Damn it! Damn it! God dammit! Shoulda never left him alone!"

Each curse was punctuated by Danny's fist connecting to the dashboard and Stella flinched… but would have done exactly the same if she were more angry than scared, which wasn't the case. She kept telling herself that it was all a simple coincidence, that the gun shots didn't have anything to do with Don… but she didn't believe it for a moment. And for the second time in less than 4 hours she began praying again. She knew she wasn't worthy of much celestial intervention, but Don Flack Jr. was a good man, a man that had already suffered enough, and he did deserve a better hand dealt in this life… Stella went as far as promising that she'd walk away from him if he was spared, promise she didn't know if she'd be able to fulfill or not, but worth a shot, nonetheless.

She tried to keep positive thoughts, not to dwell in the terrible possibilities open before her, and her mind kept going back to Don… Don dancing with her, Don joking she'd better learn how to salsa or he wouldn't take her out, Don's body pressed close to hers, Don's hands on her back, Don's lips on… Stella covered her face with her hands to shake those memories away, as they were too painful for the time being. In her mind, she kept hearing him say "I love you" and she had believed him. She believed him, and she believed she loved him as well, the rest of the world be damned.

"He's gonna be okay, Stell. The bastard has more lives than a fucking cat, I swear. He's gonna make it and he's gonna make an honest woman outta you or I'll be the one doing the shooting… mark my words Stella… he's got you to look forward to… he's gonna make it… he has to make it…" Danny kept on blabbering away, his accent thick with emotion, trying to calm her as much as he was trying to calm himself.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

O'Hanlon nearly dropped the gun after firing it. "Damn arthritis" he cursed silently. Old age was a fucking pain in the ass, and he could do without the not-so-gentle reminders that came and kicked him in the balls whenever he wasn't looking. It had shocked him to see how messy the whole thing had been, how fast the bed sheets were staining red, how loud the gunshot had sounded… he was a cop, for crying out loud, he was s'pposed to do better than that!

Disgusted with himself, he moved away from the bed. He decided to call 911 as soon as he got down to the street. There were going to be plenty of questions asked, and damned if he was gonna stick around to answer any of them. The blue wall was as thick as a piece of paper these days, and the fucking kids out there in the streets playing heroes had no understanding of what it meat to "shut the fuck up for the greater good". No sir, they didn't. As they didn't have the patience to deal with old geezers like himself, either.

He walked into the living room… and into a gun trained to his head. And although he was scared shitless on the inside, he put up the ole bravado that had come with the territory all those years of walking the beat in the meanest streets ever.

"Fucking Christ, put that gun away! You want to get us both killed?"

But the gun didn't falter and O'Hanlon began to fear for his life.

"What have you done, Max? What have you done?"

"Nothing. I've done nothing you didn't expect me to do. So drop the fucking avenger act and let's get the hell outta here before the cops show up and start asking questions…"

"Why would they? You haven't made that phone call yet, have you?"

"Come on, man. This isn't like the good ole days, where everybody looked the other way. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if they are already in their way, having received four calls already…"

"Calls that got made 'cause you're still the same stupid fool you've always been… if you wanted to do this so badly, why didn't you use a silencer?"

For a brief moment, O'Hanlon thought that he might actually walk out of there alive. If the other man was worried about the silencer and not the actual shooting, there was still hope for him, although there surely wasn't much for Don. So he shrugged his shoulders, as if trying to rest importance from the whole incident.

"You can berate me all you want on the way out of here… there's no need for the cops to find us here. Too many questions are going to be asked, and I don't know about you, but I haven't been covering my ass for the last 15 years to have it blown up by a minor shot…"

O'Hanlon tried walking past the other man, but the gun never moved.

"You've always done as ordered, Max. Wouldn't have believed you had it in you to take matters into your own hands and start making your own decisions… I, for one, pretty much doubt Flack asked you to waste the kid…"

"Well, he wanted the whole IA investigation swept under the rug…" O'Hanlon argued in his defense.

"Mayhap, but that didn't mean killing Donnie. Somehow I don't think Flack is gonna be pleased with your choice of solution."

"And what do you know about what Don wants and don't wants? Don and I, we go way back. You were barely out of diapers when we got paired together… and you want to tell me that just cause he managed to get you out on parole after only 18 months you now know best?"

Gavin Moran smiled without humor, his eyes cold and uncaring. He had done eighteen months in prison and Lt. Flack had somehow managed to get him out, calling in the last reserve of favors he still had inside the justice system. The old man had been very disappointed in his son, for having taken part on the investigation that lead to his imprisonment and for a moment he had considered that perhaps Don Jr. had somehow learned the truth of the Santa Lucia affair and was now seeking justice under the table. If that had been the case, Moran had to give it to the boy… getting him to fall had been an act of sheer genius and pure luck.

Either way, old man Flack decided that his offspring needed someone to keep a tight eye on him, and Max simply wasn't cutting it anymore, so Moran had taken on the task. And as much as every single one of them risked loosing if the whole Santa Lucia thing blew up in the faces, Moran was certain Don Flack Sr. would never go as far as ordering his own son killed. No, in this case, O'Hanlon had acted on his own, and there was going to be hell to pay. For starters, Moran was going to make sure he stuck around until the cops showed up and the damn CSIs gathered enough evidence to convict him for the murder of Detective Don Flack Jr.

And, Moran was sure, knowing his employer, that that was going to be only for starters.

Max O'Hanlon was getting anxious. He couldn't hear sirens in the distance, but that didn't mean they weren't coming.

"Either shoot me or get out or my way, Moran, but I ain't waiting around any longer", he stated.

Watching Moran reconsider the choices, Max, decided to press his luck, and started to walk towards the door. The shot rang before he had a chance to take the third step, and he was dead before he reached the ground. Moran walked over to the crumpled body, checked for the pulse and found none. He knew that if the neighbors had not raised the alert with the first shot, they would surely be calling the police now, so he better get the hell out of there, and fast.

Two more shots rang out, and Moran crumpled on top of Max's body, mortally wounded. Gasping and choking on his own blood, he turned around just enough to see who had shot him. He wasn't exactly surprised when he saw his killer; all along Gavin Moran has known he was just a pawn, an expendable pawn, in this particular game where blood ran thicker than wine and years of loyalty were rewarded accordingly. He certainly wasn't going to waste his last moments of life demanding answers he already knew. He would have done the same thing if it were him; he had actually done the same thing, putting his life and job on the line in order to save his own flesh and blood… why would Don Flack, Sr. be any different? In the end, they all did what they had to do… and did it themselves, as well.

The effort of walking from his place to this building and riding up to the first floor had proved to be too much for a man who perhaps wasn't too old, but for whom diabetes and cancer had taken their toll. He had had to rest before going into the apartment, and that pause had allowed him to listen to everything he needed to know. Now that his son was dead, there was nothing left for him to cover up, so he decided to get rid of Moran as well. Now he was sitting down at the dining table, trying to muster enough strength to walk into that bedroom to see his son's body one last time. And then, depending on the circumstances, he might need to make a quick escape through the fire stairs; and quick wasn't one of his specialties as of lately, so every second he sat there regaining his strength was going to prove a solid investment in the moments to come.

Stella and Danny had reached the building's lift when they heard the two gunshots. In her haste, she had forgotten to pack her piece, and since he still wasn't cleared to shoot since he still hadn't completed the mandatory rehab period for his hand, Danny wasn't carrying his official gun. He had, however, a small 22 strapped at his ankle, a habit from his days back in the hood, running with, and away from, the Tanglewood gang, and he quickly gave it to Stella.

The old man heard noises coming from the elevator and he knew his time was up. The only thing he had working for him was the element of surprise, and he planned on using it to the max. Gathering all the strength he was capable of, he got hold of a large piece of metal that had been used to latch Malena's wheelchair to a ramp, and stood next to the door, waiting for it to open and reveal its occupants.

Danny and Stella had been planning on a stealth attack. They had arrived without using the truck's sirens as to not alert the perps of their arrival, and they hoped that whoever was inside was too busy doing… something… to notice they had come in until it was too late. Their plan, however, had two major flaws: one of them was unarmed, and they were both facing a seasoned cop, who knew how cops thought, and then some.

The moment they set foot inside the apartment, the metal swung down, hitting Danny in the shoulder and effectively knocking the gun out of Stella's hand. They both dropped to the floor, him in pain and her in surprise, not sure of what had happened. Stella tried reaching for the gun, but stopped cold when she heard the distinctive noise of a gun being cocked. Looking up, she saw Lt. Don Flack pointing at them with a .38 with which he looked quite comfortable with.

"Now, woman, let's try not to make anything stupid, shall we? Move next to that punk-assed friend of my son's and don't give me any grief…" he ordered in a vacant voice that told the two detectives that their best chance was doing what he said. If they were lucky, there might have an opportunity to recover the upper hand later on in the game, but for now, obeying was the best option.

Although his shoulder was screaming bloody murder, and his glasses were also nowhere nearby, Danny hadn't lost his bravado, and he made it clear to the old man. "What's the deal, Flack? Downsizing the family business?" he asked, jerking his head towards the two bodies lying in the middle of the room. He was inwardly relieved none of them belonged to his friend, but tried not to give away his shock as he recognized who they were.

"Shut up, wop, and pay attention. I'm walking out of here and you two aren't going to do shit about it, you got it? Just allow an old man to close his son's eyes and I'll be…"

"No!!!" Stella felt her chest burst. Don couldn't be dead!

"You filthy lying sack o'shit…" Danny spat out, "Leave him alone! You killed him, you hear me? You killed your own son! You'll rot in jail even if it's the last thing I do…"

"Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up! I didn't kill Donnie… I didn't have to. But I don't have to keep neither one of you alive, either, so shut up or I swear to God I'll shoot you…"

Stella was trembling in rage and pain. "Go ahead. I don't care… you're going to pay for everything you've done. Word's out now, and you can't stop the truth for coming out, not anymore. You killed your son in vain…" her voice broke and so did her spirit, and she crumbled, sobbing uncontrollably. Don was gone, and the pain she felt was greater than anything she had ever experienced before, and for a moment she took solitude in the knowledge that she had now experienced what he had felt when he found out about Eugenia and Diego and Malena… it somehow, albeit irrationally, evened the score, and she felt close to him.

Danny put his uninjured arm around Stella, trying to console her as his own heart broke. He had lost Louie and he had lost Aiden and he had nearly lost Don once… he just couldn't bear the idea that this time he'd lost him for good. Danny had always considered the lanky detective as the only real friend he had, the only one who truly understood where he came from and where he wanted to go, and the only man he'd never be ashamed of saying he loved. His death wouldn't go un-avenged, even if it meant dying himself right then and there. He fleetingly thought of Montana, a pang of regret in his chest, but he knew deep down she'd understand why he had done it…

"You're gonna have to shoot us, Flack, cause I'm sure as hell not gonna let you walk outta here… hell, I'm not gonna even let you walk into that room… you simply ain't going anywhere near my friend, you hear me?"

The old man took a step closer and leveled the gun to Danny's face. He still had three shots there, so he better made them worth it.

"So be it, dago. In a way it'll close the circle. It all began cause I whacked his friend and his lover, and by the looks of it, it's going to end exactly the same way…"

Don Flack Sr. took another step closer. He had been a sharp shooter in his day, and excellent marksman, but 30 years didn't go by in vain, and he was planning on doing a quick work. One shot each, mid forehead, no room for mistakes, no second guessing. His finger wrapped around the trigger, ready to pull it back and be done with the whole thing, put an end to ten years and as many lives ruined.

"Put that gun down, or I swear to God I'll shoot you…"

The three of them turned their faces towards the hall. Standing there, all bloodied up and with his right arm hanging limply to his side, was Don Flack Jr., gun in hand, aiming at his father's head.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: ** You didn't really think I'd actually kill him now, did you? Next stop: epilogue.


	16. Past and Present

**A/N: ** Thanks for all the well wishes. We're safe, none too worse for the wear. Twenty-four hours sans electricity and 80-90 miles per hour winds don't give much room for anything excepting sleeping and writing. Thank God for laptops with long lasting batteries!

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Donnie?"

The old man's voice was barely a whisper, as if he had seen a ghost, and both Stella and Danny were a bit taken a back by the tenderness inflicted in that one syllable. And she had a flash image of two Dons, father and son, sharing all the things that consist of rites of passages. Teaching him to skate, talking hockey, learning honor in tradition, talking girls… all lost 15 years prior when the son refused to follow the father's steps anymore.

"Donnie! You're alive, boy. Alive…" the old man took an unsure step towards his son, as if he was still wondering if the young man was alive or not. And once again there it was, unmistakable this time around: the softness in the voice, the hope in his tone. As twisted as it might seem, it was clear to both Danny and Stella that Don Flack Sr. had loved his son and had been mourning loosing him the way he had.

"Lieutenant Flack, surrender your weapon at once. I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Gavin Moran and for holding two NYPD officers hostages. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say…"

All traces of loving tenderness vanished in a flash, quickly covered with disdain and that hard edge most cops acquire over the years.

"How dare you mirandize me, you punk? You're nothing, you hear me? Nothing! I'll spit in your grave and theirs, as well…"

And with that, he turned again and trained his gun on Danny and Stella who had yet to move from their position on the floor.

"I don't want to shoot you Dad, but the moment you cock that gun I'm gonna fire… and my left hand accuracy is above 80 so I don't think I'll miss."

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Don't try me. Hand your gun over to Danny and let's get this over with, now. No need to increase the body count and make things worse for you…

The older man seemed to have not heard his son's request. Instead, he aimed his gun towards Stella.

"So you're the whore he's planning on marrying? Are you aware that you look just like that other tramp he was shacking with? He's always had a weakness for your mixed-race mongrels… wouldn't surprise me if he's got you knocked up already… he tends to do that, you know…"

Stella breathed hard and managed to keep her temper under control. Setting a hand on Danny's shoulder, she conveyed him to do the same, as well. Damned if she, or anyone else in that room, was going to give this self-righteous bastard the satisfaction of falling for his taunts.

"Last chance, dad… please…"

Don Flack Sr. looked at his son, surprised. "So now you're begging? Don't tell me you really love her…"

"More than you ever loved anyone in your sorry life… I love Stella more than life itself… more that I ever loved Eugenia… and I'm not begging for either of our lives; I'm begging you not to make me shoot you…"

If Don Flack thought he had the upper hand, he was sorely mistaken. The moment he raised his gun, Flack fired his. Danny and Stella watched in shock as the old man crumbled to the floor, clutching his knee, cursing for all he was worth.

"You motherfucking son of a bitch, you shot your old man! Over a dago and a cunt!"

Don walked slowly towards the fallen body, gun trained on the man heaped on the floor.

"No. I shot a criminal because he was threatening my best friend and the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with. I allowed you to get away with it once, but not twice…"

"Hope you rot in hell, you cocksucking bastard…"

And with that, with a speed surprising for a man in his condition, Don Flack Sr. raised his gun again, placed it under his chin, and fired.

Stella's hands flew to cover her mouth, and she hid her face behind Danny's shoulder. The younger man had winced at the sound of the gun, and was now staring open-mouthed to the mortal remains of the old cop, feeling nauseous for the first time in the many years he had been in the business of death. He cringed when what was left of his brain dropped to the floor with a wet sickly plop, and he averted his gaze. He didn't want to look at Don, either. He knew it would break his heart and it'd bring him many a sleepless night, but he couldn't quite help himself, and he did, just in time to see the lanky detective fall to his knees.

Danny quickly scrambled to his aid, with Stella close behind, and he managed to get a hold of Don before he crashed to the floor. Gently, they lowered him, Stella cradling his head and Danny checking just how bad the wound in his shoulder was.

"I think it's high time someone called 911" Don murmured, before passing out. Danny flipped his cell phone open and began barking instructions faster than the speed of light. Then he looked at his unconscious friend and at the woman who was lovingly and worriedly holding him tight.

"Mazel Tov, Bonasera. Although I'll have to admit that was the worst-timed proposal I've ever heard…"

XxxX

Don winced up a bit as he tired to get up in bed, and he muttered a curse under his breath. He knew aid was just a pressed button away, but he had spent more time in a hospital, completely dependant on third parties for even the most basic things (in his book there was nothing more embarrassing and man-degrading than having to wait for someone to come help you piss into a metal jug) and he swore he wouldn't go that route this way around. If he could get himself up, then he might get up from bed without help, take a leak with certain amount of dignity and start whining to be let out of there.

He was coming back from the bathroom when he saw a figure leaning against the door frame.

"What part of "mandatory rest" didn't you get bozo? Or hasn't the doctor drilled it hard enough into your thick brain?" greeted Danny, giving his friend a hand to get back in bed.

"Yeah, love you too, ass" was Don's greeting in return, trying hard not to wince as his weight landed on his right shoulder.

Noticing the grimace, Danny tried helping him to a more comfortable position, stealing a peek to his friend's newest addition to his scar collection.

"Man, you really are a piece of work, did ya know that? You got more patch work than my nonna's quilts…"

"Told you, Messer, hockey ain't for sissies. It's been hard work keeping this" he patted his face, "looking pretty…"

"Lame, dawg, really lame. You're so friggin' vain…"

"Don't worry, Dan-o, this song is definitively not about you" Don cut him short, smiling despite the screaming pain in his shoulder.

"I just don't understand how Stella puts up with you…" muttered Danny

At the mention of her name, Don's mood quickly transformed. The easy smile vanished, and his whole forehead wrinkled in worry. "How is she? Is she okay? Where is she?"

"Easy there, lover boy. She's fine… as fine as one could be when you are first led to believe that the one you love is dead…"

"What the…?" Don's confusion was evident, and Danny took pity of him.

"We all thought O'Hanlon had wasted you. Too much shit going on to actually go into the room and check on you, so we all took your death at face value. It was some shock to see you come out of that room holding that gun…"

Danny went quiet. They hadn't discussed Don's father's suicide or how they ended up with two other dead bodies. Or how he and Stella would have probably added up to the body count if Don hadn't done last minute savior move when he had. The two friends remained in silence until Danny couldn't bear it anymore.

"Thanks Don" he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

"What for? I'm the one that should be thanking you for keeping her safe…"

"For doing what you did to save us… me. I don't think I'd have the balls to shoot my old man…"

"You would have if he was holding Montana and me at gun point. When push came to shove, the choice was simple. The past or the future. All I really had to choose was whether to hit him in the shoulder or on the knee…" Don was quiet for a moment, biting his lower lip, as if struggling what to say next. "I should be the one thanking you, Dan… if you hadn't showed up; I'd probably be dead… Us Flacks are known for not leaving loose ends behind…"

What Don left unsaid just hung in the air, and Danny let out a sigh. He really wanted to believe that when it all came down to choose between the son and his life, the older Flack would let the son live. But deep down he knew, as Don did, that if they hadn't showed up, if Flack Sr. had gone into that bedroom and found the wounded detective… he was pretty much capable of finishing the job O'Hanlon hadn't.

"The only thing I can't really understand is why Max didn't kill me… I know my dad would have, it was the only way to cut all ties of the investigation… so why would Max spare me if he was already working against my dad's wishes?"

Danny looked at his friend and looked away. When Don had brought him the evidence form the Santa Lucia case, Danny began keeping a journal of every single piece of evidence he could find against O'Hanlon and Flack Sr. He was certain Eugenia and Malena weren't the only skeletons both cops were hiding in their closets, and he soon learned they both had a whole graveyard waiting to be dug up. However, every time he came close to something, someone at the PD made sure it got lost again. When Moran had been apprehended, Danny thought it was just too coincidental that it was Don Flack Sr. who had attempted to post bail and began doing some background checks.

Just on a hunch alone, he had run DNA profiles on both cops, since they weren't in the CODIS data base. It wasn't unusual, DNA sampling among police forces had not been mandatory until the early 90's, so he ran them hoping to get something on a cold case. He expected Flack Sr.'s test to come up with at least one hit, connecting him to Don, but he had come up clean. Max O'Hanlon, however, hadn't.

"Maybe he was trying to send a message to your old man… like he was calling the shots now or something. He just never expected your dad to be one step ahead and have Moran on his case…"

Danny had decided, three years ago, that Flack need not know the truth. Danny wasn't certain the father knew, albeit it was possible he suspected something, as neither Laura nor Don Flack Sr. had blue eyes. Max O'Hanlon, on the other hand…

"Where's Stella, Danny?"

"She's, uh, with the IA people, going over your notes and mine, telling them everything she knows about the case" Danny answered, glad Don had dropped the subject of Max O'Hanlon's reasons for not killing him.

"Is she… mad at me?" Don's voice was barely a whisper.

"Mad at you? Why on Earth would she be mad at you? It's not as if you went looking for them…"

"Dad did point out the obvious…"

"What the hell are you talking about? So you like girls with curly hair, big deal…"

But Danny knew it was big deal. Stella was very capable of putting 2 and 2 together and get a 22 out of that equation, thinking she was second best to a ghost. And he thought his relationship with Montana was difficult! At least there wasn't the issue of not knowing for sure why they loved each other…

"Don… talk to her, okay? You said it loud and clear for her and everyone else to hear, that you love her more than you ever loved Eugenia… that ought to count, dontcha think?"

Just then, a couple of suited up officers came into the room, introducing themselves as IA agents and asking if Don was up to answering a couple of questions, and Don agreed, knowing that the sooner he got over that part, the better. Danny said his good-byes, mentioning he'd drop by later that day, and left the hospital room. He was heading towards the elevator when movement caught his eye: literally crumpled on a chair at the waiting room was Stella Bonasera, and by the movement of her shoulders, she was having herself a good cry. Danny took three strides and was soon at her side.

Stella had stiffened when she felt someone sitting next to her, but as soon as she realized who it was, she accepted the comfort of his warm embrace and soon Danny's t-shirt was wet with her tears.

"Shhh… it's okay, Stell, let it all out… he's okay… you're going to be okay… you both made it out okay…." he kept murmuring as he gently stroked her hair.

"No, Danny, no… it's over… it's over…. He'll never forgive me… I'll never forgive myself…"

"What nonsense you're talking about, girl? It's not over and there's nothing to forgive… come on, Stell, he loves you…"

"Oh, Danny, can't you see? He had to shoot his father because of me! His father is dead and it is my fault…"

Only Stella Danny thought would figure out in a rational way that she's to blame for everything fucked up in Don's life

Danny gently got hold of her shoulders and pulled her away.

"Look at me Stella. Look at me!" he said, more forcibly than he intended, but he had to get to her somehow. "You've made Don's life better, not worse. If he chose to shoot his dad, it was to save us both, so if that makes me responsible as well, so be it, I ain't loosing any sleep over it. The bastard chose to shoot himself, and it had nothing to do with you, or me or Don, but with the kind of twisted selfish scumbag that he was. He chose death over owning up to all the damage he'd done, and in my book that makes him a coward, unworthy of your tears or my time."

Stella stared at him speechless, but at least she had stopped crying, so Danny kept going.

"My friend is in that room, in pain. And I don't doubt his shoulder is a bitch, but what's killing him is thinking you're mad at him and that's why you haven't been to see him. He adores you, Stella: You. Forget about the rest. Trust me. I know that moron better than he knows himself sometimes and he is so sweetly in love with you it's enough to induce a diabetic comma on any onlooker…"

Stella couldn't' help smiling a bit at the absurd comment. Only Danny!

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Stella Bonasera, do you love Don Flack?"

"Yes"

The answer had surprised Stella. When you put it in a simple yes-or-no context, the answer was pretty obvious, and there was no room for 'buts', 'ifs', or 'maybes'. She loved him, as simple as that. The rest was unimportant, and she had been failing to see the forest because of the trees.

"Well, good, 'cause he loves you. You'll figure out a way to make things work. Now get that lovely ass of yours into that room and don't come out until you've set a date… or something."

And with that, Danny got up, kissed her forehead and headed for the elevators. Montana was gonna be one pissed cowgirl and he'd better get home soon or they'd be hell to pay.

Stella sat in that chair for a long time, thinking about what Danny had said to her. Could she really hope for a future with Don? Could it really be true that he wanted her… for her… for real? She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realize someone was standing next to her until a cup of steaming coffee was waved in front of her eyes a couple of times. Grabbing it, she lifted her eyes to see Mac smiling down at her.

"May I?" he asked, motioning the seat next to hers. Stella nodded and he sat down, and they both quietly sipped their coffees.

"So… Don… huh?" Mac asked quietly after taking a sip of his coffee, and Stella felt her cheeks burn, but nodded all the same.

"He knows he's up against New York's finest if he makes you unhappy, right?" he added, trying to hide a smile.

"Oh Mac…" Stella said, half-covering her face with her left hand, attempting not to spill the coffee she was holding with the right one.

"I'm happy for you, Stell. He's a good man, and you've both been through a lot in your lives… you'll be good for each other… you know what's it like to survive your own personal hells… just give yourself time, okay? Don't rush things…"

"Now that's a first…" Stella commented, almost choking on her coffee

"Me advising you not to rush into things?"

"No. You giving out romantic advice." Stella said with a grin, and it was Mac's turn to blush.

They remained sitting quietly, in companionship silence, sipping their coffee and waiting until the time was right for them to get Don out of the hospital.

XxxX

Don stood in the hallway, watching her silently, as she made her way through his bookcases, again. It had become a ritual of hers, whenever she thought he wasn't looking, she'd peruse his literary possessions. She never took them out to read them whole, no. She just chose one, whichever had caught her fancy just then and there, and thumbed threw it, stopping to read whatever he had jotted down in the corners on one page, or underlined in the next.

She had also become acquainted with his DVD collection. He remembered coming home late one night to find her curled up in the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably, watching Luis Buñuel's "Los Olvidados". He had sat next to her, holding her in his arms, and he was soon crying next to her.

He saw her reach the sound system, select a CD and put it on. Soon the music filled the room and she moved in rhythm, her attention still on the book she was holding, her body swaying unconsciously as she hummed as well. And he could remember many other nights and early mornings where the music had played and they had danced, only to end up a tangle of limbs, hungrily reaching for each other; mouths and tongues and hands yearning for a touch, for a feel, for a caress, as their passion grew and the need for each other got to be too much to be ignored. Sometimes they made it to their bedroom, sometimes the couch was as far as they could get. Then there was that time when… oh well, the bookcase was old and needed replacing anyway.

He could smell something cooking, and his stomach growled. He had taught her all he knew about Spanish and Latin cuisine, she had regaled him with her knowledge of Greek and Italian dishes, and it wasn't unusual for one or more members of their team to "casually" show up at dinner time at their place, not just for the food, but for the wine as well. Even Messer had come to agree after a while that a nice Pinot noir went better than beer with grilled meat.

After the inquiry, when all the sordid details of his life had been exposed to everyone who wanted to see them, he had felt free. Don Flack Sr., Max O'Hanlon and Gavin Moran had been buried without ceremony and the Santa Lucia case was finally closed. Nobody in the force liked to talk about what had happened, and those who were still around to have been there personally had given just the most basic of details, enough to determine foul play in at least four pending investigations. Two more senior detectives had been put on permanent suspension pending further inquiry, and one of them had agreed to talk in exchange for a deal. Everyone seemed to feel ashamed for what had been going on during Flack and O'Hanlon's watch and yet, nobody had apologized to Flack for all those years that he endured the silence and the pain in solitude.

When it had been obvious that everything was going to come out to light, Danny had come clean with Flack regarding his DNA findings. Deep down, Don hadn't felt really surprised, and he supposed that a part of him had always suspected the truth. Perhaps it was the way Max looked at his mother or the way his father had insisted he'd be brought up "the Flack way" – perhaps it was simply his gut instinct telling him something was not quite right in his family. But he had learned not to question things too much, not to rock the boat too hard… and he had survived.

In time, his wounds had healed. The physical took a lot less time than the emotional ones, and those re-opened slightly from time to time. She had been there to help him every step of the way, sometimes allowing him to walk ahead, sometimes pulling and pushing him along, but always there. They had agreed to visit Malena and Eugenia's graves once a month, bringing flowers and a CD player and having a little party just to remind him that they ought to be remembered with love, not regret.

Ramon had agreed to sell the loft and they had also agreed to donate the money to stem cell research. Don had also sold his parents' apartment and his first impulse was to give it away to charity, as well, and he did do so, but not all of it. Half the proceedings from the sale, plus whatever he got from his father's insurance and pension had gone into a savings account, an egg nest for rainy days. He had gotten rid of almost everything he father kept in the house, except for his baby crib (a family heirloom going back 6 or 7 generations) and his mother's onyx pendant that now hung around Stella's neck.

And they had moved on with their lives. The first six months had been hard on Flack, and he briefly considered quitting the force and going back to teaching, but Mac and Danny had stood behind him every step of the way, and everybody knew that messing with Flack meant getting on the bad side of the whole CSI department, so they left him alone for the most part. Soon, another corruption scandal broke loose over at Queens, and before the end of the year the whole Flack-gate was water under the bridge.

Flack knew he couldn't complain. He had more than he had ever hoped for, starting with a sense of closure he had never thought he would achieve. The only cloud in his bright sunny summer sky was not knowing what had become of his sister Moira. He had hired a couple of private investigators, but the best they could come up with was her last known address, in Seattle, back in 2001. Since then, it was as if she had vanished from the face of the Earth, but at least there wasn't a death certificate, either. According to some acquaintances of her, she and her teen daughter had been contemplating moving to Canada and they wouldn't be too surprised if they had done so. He kept an open file on them, hoping to get a better lead somewhere down the road, and all he could do was pray his sister was living a good life, somewhere.

The first notes of a familiar song brought him back from his reverie and he smiled. It had become 'their' song ever since they had danced to it on that fateful evening when she had come bearing the files from the Navarro case and he had finally overcome his fear of touching her.

Silently, he approached her, until he was standing behind her and his arms snaked around her belly.

"Care to dance, Mrs. Flack?" he growled in her ear before kissing her neck.

Stella turned around and tried fitting in his arms the best she could given the circumstances.

"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Flack. I'm not sure I'm up to it just now…" A series of bumps and thumps interrupted her, and she looked down. "But, as usual, your daughter has her own ideas, so yeah… I guess we can dance…"

Flack laughed and kissed his wife lightly on the lips, before taking her into his arms and start swaying in time to the music. Safely nested in between them, Zoë del Carmen Flack, still 5 weeks away from birth, was doing her own dance, dancing to her own rhythm, blue eyes and dark curls eagerly awaiting to come into the world…

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

**A/N: ** So here it is, the end. Me thinks 16 chapters and close to 50 k words is long enough for something that started originally as a fluffy one-shot to link "Miracle" and "CSI NY" through Eddie Cahill/Don Flack's love of hockey. It's been my pleasure and my privilege to guide you through this twisted tale of love and betrayal. Please leave the door open on your way out, and feel free to come visiting whenever you want…


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